


An Inspector Calls

by RedPen77



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - Human, Based On An Inspector Calls, Character Death, F/M, Light Angst, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 04:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16278248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPen77/pseuds/RedPen77
Summary: In a small, urban area in the middle of London, the Kirkland family is celebrating the engagement of their daughter -- Madeline. But the festivities are put on hold when a mysterious, foreign Inspector calls, bearing tragic news; a girl has died in hospital, a victim of suicide. But this family couldn't possibly have anything to do with her death, right?... Right?





	1. The Celebration

Once on a dark, rainy night in April, a man walked alone towards a house in a fairly suburban area of London, England, 1912. The house was brightly lit; comfortable; a stark contrast to the dismal outside. The rain poured down in buckets, drenching his long coat, and soaking his hat. In his hand he carried a small briefcase, not much to do with the affairs at hand, but made him look like someone of importance. And indeed he was; this was Inspector Dimtrov. 

Though the rain soaked him to the skin and dampened the path before him, he made no hurry to get to his case. After all, there were small children about, peeking out at him through the alleyways. He often gave them a smile -- which seemed to frighten them, although a few smiled back -- and once even handed one his apple. They took it hungrily, and ravished it with their hollow cheeks. It made him sad that not everyone treated the children with such kindness. 

The rain seemed to have stopped by the time he had gotten to the house. Two men were outside, both in their evening best, one smoking a cigar. The Inspector lingered for a moment on the edge of the street, for a moment observing their conversation. Then they both turned at the arrival of another in the door, and left. These were the ones. On hearing their exchange, he was almost certain that these were the people he was here to meet.

 

On that same dark, rainy night in April, a small but well-off family were seated quite comfortably at their table. The air was that of a happy glow, and much eating, drinking, and chattering had been done that evening. The house had been specially prepared; the boards had been mopped, the china swept, and the good furniture had been plumped and made ready by their maid. The Kirkland family’s champagne glasses had been used; and their best wine had been consumed merrily; and it greatly pleased the head of the household that such a jolly atmosphere had welcomed his house that night. After all, it was not every night that such a splendid occasion aroused. 

The head of the house -- Arthur Kirkland -- sat at the head of the table. He was wearing a magnificent suit and tails, with even his brass buttons polished. Next to him was his wife, Frances, decked out in pearls and her own extravagant red dress. Her hair had been let down and brushed until it was crackling with cleanliness, and she wore an air of regality even at this small family dinner. 

On his other side was his daughter, Madeline, also in a dress, but far less grand than his wife’s; plain white. But plain white for a reason, as Gilbert, the man of whom she was courting and soon to be wed, was next to her. Admittedly his manner was slightly rough around the edges -- but Gilbert had been born to wealth by his father, of Beilschmidt’s Limited, which, although had been a rival to his own company, could mean a very fine partnership indeed later. 

Finally his other son, Alfred, sat at the end, as smart as anyone else. Arthur had managed to squeeze him into formal wear after much convincing, as this was a special night indeed; and hopefully the first of many to come. By this time, their maid was just clearing away the desert dishes and setting out the port glasses, cigar box and cigarettes.

“Giving us the port? That’s right,” Arthur said, the most merrily he had been in months. He pushed one of the glasses towards Gilbert, who took it eagerly, “You ought to like this port, Gilbert. As a matter of fact, someone told me it’s exactly the same port your father gets from him!”

“Then it’ll be all right,” He replied, taking a swig, “The governor prides himself on being a good judge of port. I don’t know much about it though.”

“I should jolly well think not!” Madeline put in, gaily. She too, had had a little too much to drink. “I’d hate for you to know all about port like some purple-faced old man!”

“Hey, I’m not a purple-faced old man!” He protested back, giving her a gentle shove.

“Not yet you’re not. But then you don’t know all about port -- do you?” She replied, slyly.

“Here, Frances--” Arthur interrupted, upon seeing his wife had not taken any, “Haven’t you had any yet? You simply must have a little tonight. Special occasion y’know?”

“Yes, mummy, do have some!” Madeline added.

Frances smiled serenely, “Oh… very well then. Just a little, thank you.” She took a small glass off the tray. Although appearing to look very careful towards alcohol to maintain her ladylike appearance, however, Frances was really a lover of good wine just like the governor. As the maid passed her she addressed her; “I’ll ring from the drawing room when we want coffee. Probably half an hour or so.”

For a moment there was no talking as they all took up their glasses to drink. Arthur beamed around at them all, lazing back on his chair in a relaxed and happy manner.

“Well this is nice. Very nice indeed! Good dinner too, Frances, tell cook from me.”

“Absolutely first class!” Gilbert added, in what was meant to be a polite way, but rather lost its politeness on his tone.

“Arthur, you’re not supposed to say such things…” His wife muttered, reproachfully. 

“Oh, come, come! I’m treating Gilbert like one of the family! I’m sure he won’t object.” 

Madeline laughed, and nudged him, then said with a mock-aggressiveness, “Go on, Gil, just you object.”

“Arh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” He replied, waving a hand to brush it off, “I want to be a part of the family now. I mean, I’ve been trying long enough, haven’t I?” He nudged Madeline. When she didn’t respond he nudged her again, “Haven’t I? Oh, don’t give me that, I know I have!”

“Of course she knows,” Frances stepped in for her. Madeline smiled, half serious, half playful.

“Yes, except for all of last summer when you never came near me, and I wondered what happened to you!”

“And I’ve told you -- I was very busy at the works!” He replied, indignantly.

“Yes, that’s what you say…” 

Frances intervened again for them, “Now, Maddie, don’t tease him. When you’re married you’ll realise that men with important work to do sometimes have to spend nearly all their time and energy on their business. You’ll have to get used to that, as I have.”

“I don’t believe I ever will,” Madeline said, again half serious and half playful, “So just you be careful, Gilly!”

“Alright, alright!”

Alfred suddenly guffawed from the other end of the table. His parents turned to look at him in surprise -- and Madeline in disdain.

“What’s the joke?” She asked him.

“I don’t know, really. Suddenly I just felt I had to laugh.”

“You’re squiffy.”

“I’m not!”

“What an expression, Madeline!” Frances said, in concern, “Really, the things you girls pick up nowadays…”

“If you think that’s the best she can do--”

“Oh, don’t be an ass, Alfie--”

“Now, stop it you two,” She cut over them again, then to distract them, “Arthur, what about this famous toast of yours?”

“My…?” Arthur looked confused for a second, before he perked up, “Oh -- oh, yes, of course.” He stood up from the table, holding his glass, and cleared his throat. “Well, Gilbert, I know you agreed we should only have this quiet little family party. It’s a pity Sir Folkert and -- er -- Lady Beilschmidt can’t be with us, but they’re abroad so it can’t be helped. As I told you, they sent me a very nice cable -- couldn’t be nicer. I’m not sorry that we’re celebrating quietly like this--”

“Much nicer, really,” Frances put in.

“I agree!” Gilbert added.

“So do I, but it makes speech-making more difficult--”

“Then don’t do any!” Alfred said, not too rudely, “We should just drink to their health and be done with it!”

“No we won’t!” Arthur snipped back, “It’s one of the happiest night of my life. And one day, I hope, Alfred, when you’ve had a daughter of your own, you’ll understand why. Gilbert, I’m going to tell you frankly, without any pretences, that your engagement to Madeline means a tremendous lot to me. She’ll make you happy -- and I’m sure you’ll make her happy. You’re just the kind of son in law I’ve always wanted. Your father and I have been friendly rivals in business for some time now -- though Beilschmidt’s Limited are both older and bigger than Kirkland and Company -- and now you’ve brought us together, and perhaps we may look forward to the time when Beilschmidt’s and Kirkland’s are no longer competing but are working together -- for lower costs and higher prices!” 

“Hear, hear! My father would agree to that!” Gilbert said, raising his glass.

“Now, Arthur, I don’t think you ought to talk business on an occasion like this…” Frances  
rebutted, gently.

“Nor do I,” Madeline added, “All wrong!”

“Quite so, and I agree with you,” Arthur said, “I only mentioned it in passing. What I did want to say was -- that Madeline is a lucky girl -- and I think you’re a pretty fortunate young man too, Gilbert!”

“I know I am. This once!.”

“So!--” Arthur raised his glass, “Here’s wishing the pair of you the very best that life can bring. Gilbert and Madeline!”

“Yes, Gilbert and Madeline!” Frances raised her own glass gracefully, “Our congratulations and very best wishes!”

“Thank you,” Gilbert said, proudly. 

“Alfred, haven’t you anything to add?” Arthur asked him.

“All the best!” He said, rather noisily, “She’s got a nasty temper when she’s in a mood sometimes -- but she’s not bad really. Quite sweet. Good old Maddie!”

“Chump!” Madeline huffed at him, “I can’t drink to this, can I? When do I drink?”

“You can drink to me,” Gilbert replied.

She nodded slowly, all of a sudden quite serious, “Yes. All right. I drink to you, Gilbert.”

There was a pause, where the pair of them looked at each other. The others quietened.

“... Danke. I’ll drink to you too -- and I’ll make you as happy as you deserve to be.”

“You be careful,” Madeline said, lightly, “Or I shall start weeping!”

Gilbert gave a lopsided grin, and held up a small ring case. “Well… perhaps this will help to stop it.”

“Oh -- Gilbert -- you got it!” She squealed excitedly, “Is this the one you wanted me to have?”

“The very same!”

Madeline took the case, and carefully took out the ring. In the evening light, the pretty diamond stone sparkled and flashed in the light, while the gold looked polished to perfection. She let out a small gasp.

“Oh -- it’s beautiful -- mummy look! -- oh, darling!--” Madeline kissed Gilbert hastily (“Steady the buffs!” Alfred jokingly called), and then slipped the ring on. She waggled her finger around to get a feel for it, making it flash all the more. “I love it! Now I really feel engaged!”

“So you ought, darling. It’s a lovely ring. Be careful with it,” Frances said, carefully looking at it. 

“Careful! I should never let it out of my sight -- not for an instant!”

Frances smiled, “Well it came just at the right moment. That was very clever of you, Gilbert. 

Now, Arthur, if you have no more to say then I should think Madeline and I had better go the drawing room and leave you men--”

“I just want to say this,” Arthur said, rather more seriously. He glanced over at his daughter, who was still admiring her ring, “Are you listening, Madeline? This concerns you too. And after all I don’t often make speeches at you--”

“I’m sorry, daddy. Actually, I was listening.” She looked up attentively. They all turned to Arthur, who held their attention a moment longer, before continuing.

“I am delighted about this engagement and I hope it won’t be too long before you’re married. And I want to say this: there’s a good deal of silly talk about these days -- but -- and I speak as a hard-headed business man, who has to take risks and know what he’s about -- I say, you can ignore all this silly, pessimistic talk.” Here, Arthur looked at the engaged couple, “When you marry, you’ll be marrying at a very good time. Yes, a very good time, and soon it will be an even better time. Last month, just because the miners went on strike, there’s a lot of talk about possible labour trouble in the near future. Don’t worry. We’ve passed the worst of it. We employers are at last coming together to see that our interests -- and the interests of the Capital -- are properly protected. And we’re in a time for steadily increasing prosperity.”

“I think you’re right,” Gilbert said, seriously.

“What about war?” Alfred asked.

“Glad you mentioned it, Alfred, I’m just coming to that,” Arthur said, nodding at him, “Just because the Kaiser makes a few speeches, or a few German officers have had too much to drink and begin talking nonsense, you’ll hear some people say that war’s inevitable. And I say -- fiddlesticks! The Germans don’t hate us -- why, we have one sitting at our table today!” It was here Arthur nodded at Gilbert, who nodded back. He continued:

“The Germans don’t want war. Nobody wants a war, except some half-civilised folk in the  
Balkans. And why? There’s too much at stake these days! There’s all to lose and nothing to  
gain by having a war.”

“Yes -- I know--” Alfred said, troubled, “But still--”

“Let me finish, Alfred. You’ve a lot to learn yet,” Arthur cut over him, “I’m talking as a hard-headed, practical man of business. And I say there isn’t a chance of war. The world’s developing so fast that it’ll make war impossible. Look at the progress we’re making!” He gestured around the table, “Soon we’ll have aeroplanes able to take us anywhere! And look at the headway the automobile is making -- bigger and faster all the time. And then ships! Why, a friend of mine went over this new liner last week -- the Titanic -- she sails next week -- forty-six thousand, eight hundred tons -- New York in five days -- and every luxury -- and unsinkable, absolutely unsinkable. Facts like that, progress like that -- and not a few German officers talking nonsense and a few scaremongers making a fuss about nothing.” He gave a small, self-satisfied nod to himself. “You three young people -- Gilbert, Madeline, Alfred -- you listen to this, and remember what I’m telling you now: let’s say, in 1940, you may be giving a little party like this. Your son or daughter might be getting engaged. And by that time, I’ll tell you, by that time you will be living in a world that will have forgotten all about these Capital versus Labour agitations and silly little war scares. There’ll be peace and prosperity and progress everywhere -- except, of course, in Russia, which will always be behindhand naturally.”

Gilbert snorted. Frances tried to cut in, but Arthur smiled at her and started again.

“Yes, I know dear, I’m talking too much. But you youngsters remember what I said. We can’t let these Bernard Shaws and H.G Wellses do all the talking. We hard headed, practical businessmen must say something sometime. And we don’t guess -- we’ve had experience -- and we know.”

There was a moment of pause, before Frances rose in her chair. The rest moved the copy her, hastily. “Of course dear. Well then, if enough’s been said, Madeline and I will retire to the drawing room. And Alfred -- I want you a minute. Don’t keep Gilbert in here too long.” She added, before sweeping out of the room with her children in tow. Arthur and Gilbert, however, stayed in the dining room.

“Cigar?” Arthur offered, taking one and lighting it for himself. 

“No thanks. Can’t really enjoy them,” Gilbert replied.

“Ah, you don’t know what you’re missing. I like a good cigar,” He said, then gestured to the decanter, “Help yourself.”

Gilbert did so eagerly, pouring himself another glass. The rain seemed to have stopped, so, with the glass and cigar in hand, the two men took a step outside for a breath of fresh air. It was here Arthur turned to Gilbert, taking the lit cigar out of his mouth. 

“By the way, there’s something I’d like to mention -- in strict confidence -- while we’re by ourselves. I have an idea that your father, Sir Folkert, while he doesn’t object to my girl, feels like you could do better socially--”

“Hey!--”

“No, that’s quite alright,” Arthur soothed immediately, “Don’t blame him. He comes from an old country family -- landed people and so forth -- so it’s only natural. But what I wanted to say was -- there’s a fair chance I could find my way onto the next Honours List. Just a knighthood, of course.”

“Oh-- congratulations!” Gilbert said, brightly, and gave Arthur a clumsy pat on the shoulder.  
He laughed and brushed his hand off. 

“Thanks, but it’s a bit too early for that, so don’t say anything. But I’ve had a hint or two. You see, I was Lord Mayor here two years ago when Royalty visited us. And I’ve always been regarded as a sound useful party man. So -- well -- I gather that there’s a very good chance for a knighthood -- so long as we behave ourselves and don’t get into a police court or start a scandal -- eh?” Arthur gave a short, complacent laugh. 

Gilbert laughed with him, “Well you seemed to be well-behaved enough--”

“We think we are!”

“--And if that’s the only obstacle in your way then I think you might as well accept my congratulations now!”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that. And don’t say anything yet,” Arthur implored.

“Not even to my father? I know he’ll be delighted,” Gilbert replied, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, when she comes back, you might drop a hint to her. And you can promise her that we’ll keep out of trouble for the next few months!”

The both of them laughed again, until a voice called from behind them.

“What’s the joke? Started telling stories have you?” 

“Eh?” Arthur turned to see Alfred having entered the room, and hand his arms resting on one of the mahogany dining chairs, “Oh-- no. Want another glass of port?”

“Oh yes!”

Gilbert and Arthur both moved back inside, Gilbert shutting the door after him, and seated themselves back at the table. Alfred followed their lead -- now with a glass of port in his hand.

“Mother says we musn’t stay too long,” Alfred began, after taking a deep drink, “But I don’t think it matters. I left ‘em talking about clothes again. You’d think a girl never had any clothes before her marriage! Woman are potty about ‘em!”

“Yes, but you’ve got to remember, my boy, that clothes mean something quite different to a woman,” Arthur reminded him, “Not just something to wear -- and something to make ‘em look prettier -- but, well, a sort of sign or token of their self respect.”

“That’s true,” Gilbert agreed.

“Yes… yes, I remember--” He began, before checking himself.

“... Well?” Arthur asked him, “What do you remember?”

“... Nothing,” Alfred replied, not meeting his gaze.

Gilbert looked between them, amused, “Sounds fishy.”

“Yes, you don’t know what some of these boys get up to nowadays,” Arthur said, in the same manner, “More money to spend and time to spare than I had when I was Alfred’s age. They worked us hard in those days and kept us short of cash. Thought even then -- but we broke out and had our fun sometimes.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Gilbert almost laughed in return.

“But this is the point,” Arthur continued, again, “Now, I don’t want to lecture you fellows too much. But what many of you don’t seem to understand now, when things are so much easier, that a man has to make his own way -- has to look after himself -- and his family too, of course, when he has one -- and so long as he does that he won’t come to too much harm. But the way some of these cranks talk and write now, you’d think everybody has to look after everybody else, as if we’re all mixed up together like bees in a hive -- community and all that nonsense.” He put his cigar back in his mouth for a moment, and drew a long puff, contemplating, “Take my word for it, youngsters, and I’ve learnt from the good, hard, school of experience, that a man has to look after his own business, and look after himself and his own, and--”

He was interrupted by a sharp knock, and then, the ring of a doorbell.

“Somebody at the front door,” Alfred observed. Arthur leaned back on his chair comfortably.

“The maid’ll get it. Well, have another glass of port, Gilbert -- and then I think we’ll join the ladies. That’ll stop me giving you good advice.”

“Yes, you’ve piled it on a bit thick tonight, Father,” Alfred said, amused, and took the decanter once Gilbert was done with it.

“Special occasion. And feeling contented, for once, I wanted you to have the benefit of my experience.”

He was about to reply, when the maid came shuffling through the door. They all turned to look at her, attentively. 

“Please, sir, an Inspectors called,” she told them. 

“An Inspector? What kind of inspector?” Arthur asked, straightening up on his chair again. 

“A police Inspector. Says his name’s Inspector Dimitrov.”

“Don’t know him. Does he want to see me?”

“Yes sir. Says it’s important.”

“All right. Show him in here,” Arthur said, and the maid left. He snuffed his cigar out on the ashtray, then looked at the two boys, “Can’t be anything too important, so don’t you worry lads. Everything here’ll be fine.”


	2. Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inspector arrives, and reveals that a girl has died tonight. Arthur admits he had dismissed her from his employment two years previous -- but what does that have to do with anything?

“Please, sir, an Inspectors called,” she told them. 

“An Inspector? What kind of inspector?” Arthur asked, straightening up on his chair again. 

“A police Inspector. Says his name’s Inspector Dimtrov.”

“Don’t know him. Does he want to see me?”

“Yes sir. Says it’s important.”

“All right. Show him in here,” Arthur said, and the maid left. He snuffed his cigar out on the ashtray, then looked at the two boys, “Can’t be anything too important, so don’t you worry lads. Everything here’ll be fine.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The maid left them, shuffling back out of the doorway. Once left, Arthur left his cigar on the ashtray and laid back in his relaxed fashion, back on the chair. 

“I’m still on the Bench,” He said, “might be something to do with a warrant.”

“It’s sure to be,” replied Gilbert, lightly, “unless Alfred has been up to something.” He then grinned, and gave a nod to Arthur, “That’d be awkward, wouldn’t it?”

Arthur laughed humorously, “Very.” 

Alfred wasn’t laughing. He looked between them uneasily, “Here, what do you mean?”

“Oh, just something we were talking about when you were out,” replied Gilbert, mischievously, “A joke, really.”

“Well I don’t find it very funny!” He said, increasingly anxious. Arthur stared at him.

“What’s the matter with you, boy?”

“Nothing!” He again said, defiantly. Arthur was about to clap back, when the maid shuffled in again, this time with the Inspector in tow.

The Inspector was a man in his fifties, wearing a dark, long, wet coat and an equally soaked bowler hat. He was smiling pleasantly at the men, but he seemed to cast the impression of solidity and purposefulness, as well as massiveness for a rather short man. He looked hard at Arthur, as if to scan him. It wasn’t exactly in an unpleasant way -- but it did give a sense of unease about the room. 

“Mr. Kirkland?” He asked, in a friendly, but obviously foreign tone. 

“Yes. Sit down, Inspector,” Arthur replied, gesturing towards one of the empty seats. The Inspector sat, and nodded politely at him.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Port -- or perhaps a whisky?” He offered again.

“No thank you, Mr. Kirkland -- I’m on duty.” 

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Arthur observed, lighting himself another cigar. The Inspector -- again -- nodded.

“Yes. Only recently transferred.”

“Thought you must be,” He mused, taking a short puff of the cigar, “I was an alderman for years -- Lord Mayor two years ago -- and I’m still on the bench, so I know the Brumley police officers quite well -- and I thought I’d never seen you before.”

“Quite so,” The Inspector said, still in a polite tone, but it was clear he couldn’t really care less.

“Well, what can I do for you?” Arthur asked, looking at him, “Some trouble about a warrant?”

“No, Mr. Kirkland.”

“Then what is it?” He was getting impatient now.

“I’d like some information, if you don’t mind, Mr. Kirkland. Two hours ago a young woman died in the infirmary. She’d been taken there this afternoon because she’d swallowed a lot of strong disinfectant. Burnt her inside out, of course.”

“My God!” Alfred cried, looking quite horrified.

“Yes, she was in great agony,” The Inspector said, solemnly, “They did everything they could for her at the Infirmary, but she died. Suicide, of course.”

“Yes, yes, horrid business.” Arthur said, all the more impatiently, “But I don’t see why you should come here, Inspector--”

“I’ve been round to the room she had, and she’d left a letter there, and a sort of diary,” He cut through Arthur massively, making him bristle a little, but the Inspector carried on as if nobody had spoken. “Like a lot of these young woman who get into various kinds of trouble, she’d used more than one name. But her original name, was Elizabeta Hedervary.” 

“... Elizabeta Hedervary?” Arthur said, slowly.

“Yes. Do you remember her?”

“... No,” He said, still thoughtfully, “I seem to remember hearing that name -- Elizabeta Hedervary -- somewhere. But it doesn’t convey anything to me. And I don’t see where I come into this.”

“She was employed at your works at one time,” The Inspector pressed.

“Oh -- that’s it?” Arthur put his cigar back into his mouth and spoke rather thickly, “Yes, well, we have several hundred woman in there, y’know, and they all keep changing.”

“This young woman, Elizabeta Hedervary, was a bit out of the ordinary,” he replied, complacently, “I found a photograph of her in her lodgings. Perhaps you’d remember her from that?”

He stood, reaching into his pocket to show him the photograph. It was about postcard in size, quite small, and a little bent in places. When Gilbert and Alfred leaned in to look at the picture, however, he blocked them from view, and hastily tucked the picture away. Gilbert frowned, annoyed.

“Any reason why I shouldn’t see the picture?” He demanded, annoyed.

“There might be,” The Inspector replied, looking at him in the same hard way as he had scanned Arthur.

“And the same applies to me, I suppose?” Alfred jumped in.

“Yes.”

“I can’t imagine what it could be,” Gilbert said, dismissively. Alfred nodded vigorously.

“Nor can I!”

“And I must say, I agree with them, Inspector,” Arthur added, frowning a little himself.

“It’s the way I like to work,” he said, after a brief pause, “One person and one line of enquiry at a time. Otherwise, there’s a muddle.”

“I see,” Arthur nodded slowly, and restlessly took a puff from his cigar, “Sensible, really.” He then turned to Alfred, “I think you’ve had enough of that port, Alfred.”

The Inspector looked at Arthur, at the sudden change of topic. This didn’t escape Arthur’s notice.

“I think you remember Elizabeta Hedervary now, don’t you Mr. Kirkland.” 

“Yes, I do,” He grunted, “She was one of my employees, and then I discharged her.”

“Is that why she committed suicide? When was this, Father?” Alfred asked, curiously. 

“Just keep quiet, Alfred, and don’t get excited. This girl left us nearly two years ago. Let me see -- it must have been the early Autumn of nineteen-ten.” 

“Yes,” The Inspector agreed, “End of September, nineteen-ten.”

“That’s right,” Arthur nodded. In fact he remembered it quite well. He’d been having trouble with some of his woman that worked there -- a group of girls that worked in the machine shops. They wouldn’t do their work properly, and kept demanding to see him. Well, for whatever reason, he had agreed. 

________________________________________________________________________

“Look here, Mr. Kirkland,” One of the girl’s leading them said, boldly. She folded her arms across her chest to make herself seem more imposing, “We don’t like the rate that we’re being paid. I’m going to tell you straight; we want higher wages.”

Arthur scoffed, “Ladies, please. Be reasonable! I can’t give you higher wages. You’ve got what you’ve got, and I have half a mind to dismiss you on the spot for that tone with me, Miss Hedervary!”

“Mr. Kirkland, you and I both know I do the work you ask me and more. And I -- and the girls -- agreed that twenty-two and six isn’t enough. We don’t want it raised by much. Just a little. Twenty five shillings a week on average -- taken off for sick days and added on for extra work.”

“If I give you higher wages pretty soon half the factory will be demanding more!” He argued.

“And what’s so wrong with that? You have money, you’re well off--”

“Now, look here!” He cut across her, “It’s a free country. Don’t like the rates, don’t work here! I pay what I pay you, and you’re not getting any more than what you’re worth -- oh and I’m paying you exactly what you’re worth!” Arthur added, before she could interrupt, “Any other employer would have sacked you on the spot for pulling a stunt like this. Impertinence! But I won’t. I’ll give you girls a chance. Go back to your stations now, and I won’t dismiss you. You’ll get your normal wages at the end of the week.”

“Fine,” She said, turning to leave him. For a moment, Arthur thought he had won, before she continued, “Then we go on strike. Come on, girls!”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Look here,” Gilbert said, rather suddenly, “Wouldn’t you rather I was out of this?”

“I don’t mind you being here, Gilbert. And I’m sure you’ve no objection, have you Inspector?” Arthur added, somewhat peevishly, his way, “Perhaps I ought to explain first that this is Gilbert Beilschmidt -- son of Sir Folkard Beilschmidt -- you, know, Beilschmidt’s Limited.”

“Mr. Gilbert Beilschmidt, eh?” The Inspector asked, rather gravely. 

“Yes,” Arthur seemed to be getting more annoyed at his lack of reaction, “Incidentally we’ve been modestly celebrating his engagement to my daughter, Madeline.”

“I see. Mr. Beilschmidt is going to be marrying Madeline Kirkland?”

Gilbert grinned, “I hope so!”

“Then I would prefer you stay,” said the Inspector, rather more gravely. He looked surprised.

“Oh-- alright then.” He shrugged, and helped himself to the last of the port.

Arthur was growing all the more impatient, and he snapped, “Look, there’s nothing mysterious -- or scandalous -- about this business -- at least not so far as I’m concerned. It’s a perfectly straightforward case, and as it’s happened more than eighteen months ago -- nearly two years ago -- obviously it has nothing whatever to do with the wretched girl’s suicide, eh Inspector?”

“No, sir. I can’t agree with you there,” replied the Inspector, calmly, but solemnly.

“Why not?” Arthur immediately demanded.

“Because what happened to her then may have determined what happened to her afterwards, and what happened to her afterwards may have driven her to suicide. A chain of events.”

“Oh, well--” Arthur bristled slightly under his gaze, “Put it like that, and I suppose there’s something in what you say. But I can’t accept responsibility. If we were all responsible for everything that happened to everybody we’d had anything to do with, it would be very awkward, wouldn’t it?”

“Very awkward,” The Inspector agreed.

“We’d all be in an impossible position, wouldn’t we?” Asked Arthur again, growing a little more self-satisfied and less frustrated once more. 

“By Jove, yes!” Alfred put in, “And as you were saying, Dad, a man has to look after himself--”

“Yes, well, we needn’t go into all that.”

“Go into what?” The Inspector asked, curiously.

“Oh -- just before you came -- I’d been giving these two young men a bit of good advice,” Arthur said, brushing it off, “Now, about this girl, Elizabeta Hedervary. I remember her quite well now. She was a lively, good-looking girl -- country bred, I fancy -- and she’d been working in one of our machine shops for over a year. A good worker too. In fact the foreman there told me he was ready to promote her into what we call a leading operator -- head of a small group of girls. But after they came back from their holidays that August, they were all rather restless, and they suddenly decided to ask for more money.” Arthur suddenly scoffed, “They were averaging about twenty-two and six, which is neither more nor less that is generally paid in our industry. They wanted the rates raised so they could average about twenty-five shillings a week. I refused, of course.” 

“Why?” The Inspector asked. Arthur looked at him, surprised and confusion on his face.

“Did you just say ‘Why?’?”

“Yes. Why did you refuse?”

“Well, Inspector, I don’t see that it’s any concern of yours how I choose to run my business. Is it now?”

“It might be, you know,” He replied again, looking coolly at Arthur, who was growing frustrated again.

“I don’t like that tone!”

“I’m sorry,” The Inspector said, blithely, “But you asked me a question.”

“And you asked me a question before that, a quite unnecessary question at that too!”

“It is my duty to ask questions.”

“Well it’s my duty to keep labour costs down, and if I’d agreed to this demand for a new rate we’d have added about twelve percent onto our labour costs! Does that satisfy you? So I refused. Said I couldn’t consider it. We were paying the usual rates, and if they didn’t like those rates they could go and work somewhere else. It’s a free country, I told them!”

“But it isn’t if you can’t go and work somewhere else,” Alfred pointed out.

“Quite so,” The Inspector agreed. Arthur shot his son a glare.

“Now, just you stay out of this, Alfred. You hadn’t even started in the works when this happened.” Arthur turned back to the Inspector, “They went on strike. That didn’t last long, of course.”

“Not if it was just after the holidays, it wasn’t,” Gilbert agreed, with a nod, “They’d be all broke -- if I know them.”

“Right, Gilbert!” Arthur said, “They mostly were. And so was the strike, after a week or two. Pitiful affair. Well, we let them all back -- at the old rates, of course -- except the four or five ringleaders that had started the trouble. I went down myself and told them to clear out. And this girl, Elizabeta Hedervary, was one of them. She’d had a lot to say -- far too much -- so she had to go.”

“You couldn’t have done anything else,” Gilbert agreed again.

“He could,” Alfred said, rudely, “He could have kept her on instead of chucking her out. I call it tough luck.”

“Rubbish!” Arthur scoffed back, immediately, “If you don’t come down sharply on some of these people, they’d soon be asking for the Earth!”

“They might,” The Inspector mused, “But then, it is better to ask for the Earth, than to take it.” 

Arthur stared at the Inspector in disbelief at his forwardness. “... What did you say your name was again, Inspector?”

“Dimtrov. D-I-M-T-R-O-V. I come from Bulgaria.” 

“How do you get on with our Chief Constable, Colonel Roberts?”

“I don’t see much of him.”

“Then perhaps I ought to warn you that he’s an old friend of mine, and I see him fairly frequently,” Arthur said, aggression in his tone, “We play golf sometimes up at the West Brumley.” 

“I don’t play golf,” he replied, dryly.

“I didn’t suppose you did,” Arthur said, scathingly.

“Well I think it’s a damn shame!” Alfred suddenly burst out, much to the surprise of everyone. 

“No, I never wanted to play,” The Inspector told him.

“No -- I mean about this girl, Elizabeta Hedervary. Why shouldn’t they try for higher wages? We try for the highest possible prices! And I don’t see why she should have been sacked just because she’d had a bit more spirit than the others. You said yourself she was a good worker!” Alfred put his empty glass down on the table rather loudly. “I’d have let her stay.”

“Unless you brighten your ideas you’ll never be in a position to let anyone stay or see anyone else go!” Arthur told Alfred, angrily, “It’s about time you learnt to face a few responsibilities! That’s something this public-school-and-Varsity-life you’ve had doesn’t seem to teach you!”

“Well we don’t need to tell the Inspector all about that, do we?” Alfred replied, sulkily.

“I don’t see we need to tell the Inspector anything more!” He barked, “And in fact there’s nothing I can tell him! I told the girl to clear out, and she went! That’s the last I heard of her! Have you any idea of what happened to her after that? Got into trouble? Go on the streets?”

“No, she didn’t exactly go on the streets…” The Inspector said, slowly. But before Arthur could retort, the door suddenly opened again, and Madeline stepped into the dining room again, stumbling just a bit in her white dress.

“What’s all this about the streets?” She asked, gaily. Then she saw the Inspector, “Oh-- sorry. I didn’t know. Mummy sent me in to ask you why you didn’t come to the drawing room.”

“We shall be along in just a minute now,” Arthur told her, “Just finishing.”

I’m afraid not,” The Inspector put in again.

“There’s nothing more you know!” He said, flaring up again at him, “I’ve just told you that?”

“What’s this all about?” Madeline asked, innocently. She looked from her Father, to the Inspector in confusion. 

“Nothing to do with you, Maddie. Run along.”

“No, wait a minute Miss Kirkland,” The Inspector said. Arthur flared up yet again at his orders being contradicted.

“Look here, Inspector, I find this uncalled-for and officious. I’ve half a mind to report you! I’ve told you all I know -- and it doesn’t seem to me very important -- and there isn’t the slightest reason why my daughter’s been dragged into this unpleasant business!”

“What business? What’s happening?” Madeline again pressed.

“I’m a police Inspector, Miss Kirkland,” said the Inspector, impressively, “This afternoon, a young woman drank some disinfectant, and died after several hours of agony in the Infirmary.”

“Oh -- how horrible!” She gasped, “Was it an accident?”

“No. She wanted to end her life. She felt she couldn’t go on any longer.”

“Well don’t tell me that’s because I discharged her from my employment nearly two years ago!” Arthur jumped in again, angrily.

“Did you Dad?” Madeline asked.

“Yes. The girl had been causing trouble in the works. I was quite justified!”

“Yes, I think you were,” Gilbert agreed, “I know we’d have done the same thing. Don’t look like that, Maddie.”

“Sorry!” Madeline said, a little distressed, “I just keep thinking about this girl -- destroying herself so horribly -- and after I’ve been so happy tonight. Oh I wish you hadn’t told me!” She suddenly snapped at the Inspector. But then, in quite another tone, she sat down at the table with the men, resting her elbows on the table, and looked at the Inspector with something like awe in her eyes, “What was she like? Quite young? Was she pretty?”

“She was twenty four,” The Inspector told her. 

“And pretty?”

“She wasn’t pretty when I saw her today, but she had been pretty. Very pretty.”

“That’s enough of that!” Arthur snapped.

“I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Gilbert told the Inspector, “It’s what happened since she left Arthur’s works that’s done her in.”

“Obviously,” Arthur agreed immediately, “I told him that some time ago.”

“And we can’t help you there because we don’t know!” He finished.

The Inspector only looked from Madeline, to Gilbert, to Alfred.

“Are you sure you don’t know?” He replied, slowly.


	3. Madeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Madeline confesses her anger towards Elizabeta, and the case is one step closer to closing. Meanwhile, Gilbert is hiding a shameful secret.

“I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Gilbert told the Inspector, “It’s what happened since she left Arthur’s works that’s done her in.”

“Obviously,” Arthur agreed immediately, “I told him that some time ago.”

“And we can’t help you there because we don’t know!” He finished.

The Inspector only looked from Madeline, to Gilbert, to Alfred.

“Are you sure you don’t know?” He replied, slowly. 

___________________________________________________

“Are you suggesting that one of them knows something about this girl?” Arthur demanded, but in a slightly less harsh tone.

“Yes,” The Inspector replied, still calm. 

“You didn’t come here just to see me then?”

“No.”

The four of them exchanged rather perturbed and bewildered glances, of which the Inspector ignored. Arthur began again, his tone much definitely softer and politer.

“Well, of course. If I’d known that sooner I wouldn’t have called you officious and talked about reporting you,” He took the cigar slowly out of his mouth as it burnt out again, and left it in the ashtray. “You understand that -- don’t you Inspector? I thought that -- for some reason best known to yourself -- you were making the most of this tiny bit of information I could give you. I’m sorry. This makes a difference. You sure of your facts?”

“Some of them -- yes,” He gave Arthur another searching look. He ignored this. 

“I can’t think them being of any great consequence.”

“The girl’s dead though,” The Inspector pointed out.

“What do you mean by saying that?” Madeline put in, suddenly, “You talk as if we were responsible--”

“Just a minute, Maddie,” Arthur cut over her, “now, Inspector, I think you and I had best go talk this quietly over in the corner--”

“Why should you? He’s finished with you. He says it’s one of us now!” 

“Yes, and I’m trying to settle it sensible for you!”

“Well there’s nothing to settle here!” Gilbert suddenly frowned, “I’ve never known an Elizabeta Hedervary.”

“Neither have I,” Alfred added.

“Was that her name then?” She asked, “Elizabeta Hedervary?”

“Yes,” Gilbert nodded, “Says we’re somehow responsible for the death of a girl we never knew!”

“Elizabeta, Elizabeta…” Madeline mumbled. The Inspector leaned in closer. 

“... Never heard of her!” She decided, brightly. He sighed in disappointment.

“So where are you now, Inspector?” Gilbert asked him, setting aside his empty glass.

“Where I was before, Mr. Beilschmidt. I told you -- like a lot of these young woman she used more than one name. She was still Elizabeta Hedervary when Mr. Kirkland sacked her -- for wanting twenty-five shillings per week instead of twenty-two and six. But after that she stopped being Elizabeta Hedervary. Perhaps she’d had enough of it.”

“Can’t blame her…” Alfred muttered.

“I think that was a very mean thing to do,” Madeline told her father, “Perhaps that spoilt everything for her.”

“Rubbish!” Arthur scoffed, before he turned back to the Inspector, “Do you know what happened to this girl after she left my works?”

“Yes,” replied the Inspector, back to his solemn tone, “she was out of a job for nearly two months. Both of her parents were dead, so she had no home to go back to. And she hadn’t been able to save much out of what Kirkland and Company paid her. So after that two months, with no work, and no money coming in, living in lodgings with no relatives to help her, few friends, lonely, and half-starved, I imagine she was feeling quite desperate.”

“I should think so!” Said Madeline, warmly, “It’s a rotten shame!”

“There are a lot of young woman living in that sort of existence in every city and big town in this country, Miss Kirkland. If there weren’t, the factories and warehouses wouldn’t know where to look for cheap labour. Ask your father.”

“But these girls aren’t cheap labour -- they’re people!” Madeline frowned, rather indignantly.

“I’ve had that notion myself from time to time,” The Inspector said, dryly, “In fact, I’ve thought that it would do us all a bit of good if sometimes we tried to put ourselves in these young woman counting their pennies in their dingy little back bedroom.”

“Yes, I expect it would,” Madeline agreed, “So what happened to her then?”

“She had what seemed to her to be a wonderful stroke of luck. She was taken on in a shop -- and a good one too. Milwards.”

“Milwards!” She exclaimed, delightedly, “We go there! In fact, I was there this afternoon -- for your benefit!” Madeline directed that last part to Gilbert, who grinned.

“Good!”

“Yes, she was lucky to be taken on at Milwards!” Madeline continued, turning back to the Inspector.

“That’s what she thought,” The Inspector agreed, “And it happened that at the beginning of December that year -- nineteen-ten -- there was a good deal of influenza about, and Milwards suddenly found themselves short-staffed. So that gave her her chance.” He paused. “It seemed she liked working there. It was a nice change from a factory. She enjoyed being amongst pretty clothes I’ve no doubt. And now she felt she was making a good, fresh start. You can imagine how she felt.”

“Yes, of course!” Madeline agreed. 

“And then she got herself into trouble there, I suppose?” Arthur put in, rather scathingly.

“After about a couple of months, just when she felt she was settling down nicely, they told her she’d have to go.”

“Not doing her work properly?” Arthur scoffed, “Typical…”

“There was nothing wrong with the way she was doing her work. They admitted that.” The Inspector told him.

“There must have been something wrong!”

“All she knew was -- that a customer had complained about her -- and so she had to go.” 

Madeline stared at the Inspector in dismay, “When was this?” 

“At the end of January -- last year,” He replied, gravely.

“What -- what did this girl look like?”

“If you come over here, I’ll show you.” The Inspector stood up to move closer to the lamp in the corner of the room, and Madeline hastened to follow. He produced the picture, and held it up for her to see. She stared intently at it for a moment, before giving a gasp -- and then a sob. Before anyone could stop her, Madeline had quite suddenly picked up her skirts, and ran out of the room. 

She ran through the drawing room -- passing her bewildered mother -- and all the way up to her bedroom to throw herself onto her bed. Madeline knew that girl. She remembered her quite clearly. She had been in an awful temper over something, because she couldn’t be allowed to buy this beautiful and not even that pricey necklace, that she knew would fit wonderfully on her. But alas, she was made to pass on quickly to Milwards -- bringing her bad temper with her.

____________________________________________________

“Ooh, mummy! That dress is very pretty!” Madeline exclaimed, almost forgetting all about the necklace. She crossed over to the dress -- a very nice white in colour, quite plain, except for a single bow at the back. She held the fabric between her fingers, and rubbed it softly. “I have to try it on!”

“Oh, dearie, I’m so sorry, but I don’t think it will suit you at all,” Frances replied, putting a hand on her shoulder, “Let’s try another.”

“No,” Madeline was firm, still rather cross about the necklace, and ready to prove her mother wrong, “This one.”

“If I may be so bold, I do believe your mother is right,” said the assistant, carefully, “at Milwards, we pride ourselves on variety of dress. Perhaps another ought to--”

“A fitting room, please,” she cut over her, rather rudely, and held the dress up, “I wish to try it on.”

“Yes miss.”

The assistant sent a girl to fetch the same model of the dress from the workroom, while Madeline scoured the other dresses. Quite irritatingly, she found, when she looked up, she saw the girl in conversation with the assistant. She had the dress for her by now. And when the assistant asked her something about it, the girl, to show her what she meant, had held the dress up to herself, as if she were wearing it. Madeline could see in the clear daylight that it suited her splendidly, and far better than she knew it would suit herself.

Once the dress was handed over to her, she immediately went to try it on in the fitting room. It took a lot of squeezing, but eventually Madeline walked out to scour herself in the mirror. Immediately -- and annoyingly -- she saw that her mother and the assistant had been right. The dress was wrong -- all wrong -- on her. It was the wrong shape, the wrong colour, the wrong -- wrong everything. 

“It looked nice in the window!” She half sobbed, and it must be confessed that she stamped her foot in despair. Her mother put a consoling hand on her shoulder.

“Nevermind dear. I’m sure the next one will suit much better.”

Madeline nodded, distraught, and took another look at herself in the mirror. Behind her, she spotted, was the assistant and the girl who had brought the dress up from the workroom. They were smiling at each other, and looking pityingly at her, as if to say -- ‘doesn’t she look awful in that dress?’. 

Madeline was furious. So furious, in fact, that when she handed her dress back to the assistant, she demanded to see the manager. Well, her being a very high-class customer there, they agreed, and hastily sent for her.

The manager was a pretty woman in a simple black dress and bonnet, and wore an air of regality -- just like her own mother. Madeline marched right up to her. 

“Who’s the girl that gave me my dress?” She demanded.

“Oh -- she’s is Elizabeta. She’s our newest, just employed a few months ago,” The manager replied, looking down at Madeline. She was a tall woman. “Why? Have you a complaint?”

“Yes I jolly well have! And if you don’t fire her right this instant, I shall never come here again!” Madeline declared, “I’ll convince my Mother to close our account with you -- and we come here often too, you make a lot of money off us!”

The manager paused for a second, “... I see. And nothing I can say to you will change your mind? She is a diligent worker…”

She nodded fiercely, “I won’t buy anything from you ever again!”

“... Very well then.”

Madeline watched as the manager spoke with the assistant for a few minutes, and then the assistant went downstairs, back to where the girl -- Elizabeta -- was. She took a savage satisfaction in that, before turning away to browse the other dresses. Thoroughly pleased with herself.

Of course, she had no idea what this mistake would cost her.

__________________________________________________________

“What’s the matter with her?!” Arthur immediately demanded, as Madeline fled the room.

“She recognised her from the photograph, didn’t she?” Alfred asked, eyes wide.

“Yes,” The Inspector replied.

“Why the devil did you want to go upsetting the child like that?!” Arthur demanded again, angrily, and stood up from his chair quite suddenly. 

“I didn’t do it,” He answered, “She’s upsetting herself.”

“Well then, why -- why?” 

“I don’t know -- yet. That’s something I have to find out.”

“Well, if you don’t mind -- I’ll find out first!” Arthur said, all the more angrily.

“Should I go to her?” Gilbert asked.

“No, leave this one to me,” replied Arthur, moving from his chair, “I must also have a word with my wife -- tell her what’s happening.” His gaze fell upon the Inspector again, “We were having a nice little family celebration tonight. And a nasty mess you’ve made of it now, haven’t you?”

The Inspector only gave a curt nod, and said, in a steady tone: “That’s more or less what I thought tonight, when I was in the Infirmary looking at what was left of Elizabeta Hedervary. I nice little promising life there, I thought, and a nasty mess somebody’s made of it.”

Arthur looked as if he was about to retort, before he seemed to think better of it. He went out the door, slamming it rather loudly behind him. Gilbert and Alfred exchanged uneasy glances -- of which the Inspector ignored.

“I want to have a look at that photograph now,” Gilbert said, suddenly.

“All in good time,” The Inspector replied. 

“I don’t see why--”

“You heard what I said before, Mr. Beilschmidt,” Cut in the Inspector, making him bristle a little, “One line of inquiry at a time. Otherwise we’d all be talking at once and won’t know where we are. If you’ve anything to tell me, you’ll have the opportunity of doing so soon.”

“Well I don’t think I have--”

“I’ve had enough of this!” Alfred suddenly burst out again. The Inspector only raised an eyebrow.

“I dare say.”

“I’m sorry -- but -- you see -- we were having a little party -- and I’ve had a few drinks including a lot of champagne -- and I’ve got a headache -- and as I’m only in the way here, I think I’d better turn in.”

“I think it better, actually, if you stay here,” The Inspector replied, solemnly.

“Why should I?” He demanded.

“It might be less trouble. If you turn in, you might have to turn out again soon.”

“Getting a bit heavy-handed, Inspector,” Gilbert joked, as lightly as he could.

“Perhaps. But if you’re easy with me I’m easy with you.”

“After all, y’know, we’re respectable people, not criminals!” He continued on.

“Sometimes there isn’t as much difference as you think,” The Inspector said, contemplatively, “Often, if it were left to me, I wouldn’t know where to draw the line.”

“But it’s not left to you, is it?” Gilbert replied, rather rudely.

“No, it isn’t,” The Inspector agreed, “But some things are left to me. Inquiries of this sort, for instance.”

Before either of them could say any more, Madeline came back into the room. She looked as if she’d been doing a great deal of crying, even sniffing slightly now as she closed the door behind herself.

“Well Miss Kirkland?” The Inspector pressed, immediately.

“You knew it was me all along -- didn’t you?” She asked.

“I had an idea it might be -- from something the girl herself wrote.”

“I’ve told my father -- he didn’t seem to think it amounted to much -- but I felt rotten about it at the time and now I feel much worse,” Madeline replied, miserably, “Did it make much difference to her?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it did,” The Inspector replied, heavily, “That was the last real steady job she had. When she lost it -- for no reason that she could discover -- she thought she may well try a different kind of life.”

“So I’m really responsible?” She asked, tearfully.

“No, not entirely. A good deal happened to her after that as well. But you’re partly to blame, just as your father is.”

“But what did Maddie do?” Alfred asked, curiously.

“I… well… I went to the manager at Milwards and I told him that if they didn’t get rid of the girl, I’d never go near the place again, and I’d convince Mother to close our account with them,” She replied, distressed.

“And why did you do that?” Quizzed The Inspector.

“Because I was in a furious temper!”

“And what had this girl done to make you lose your temper?”

“When I was looking at myself in the mirror, I caught sight of her smiling at the assistant, and I was furious with her,” She answered, miserably, “I’d been in a bad temper anyhow.”

“And was that the girl’s fault?”

“No, not really. It -- it was my own fault,” She suddenly turned to Gilbert, “You needn’t look at me like that, you know. At least I’m trying to tell the truth! I expect you’ve done things you’re ashamed of!”

“Well, I never said I haven’t,” He replied, a little peevishly, “I don’t see why--”

“Nevermind about that,” The Inspector cut over them, “You can settle this between you afterwards. Now--” He turned back to Madeline, “What happened?”

“I’d gone to try something on. It was an idea of my own -- mother had been against it, and so had the assistant -- but I insisted. As soon as I tried it on, I knew they’d been right,” Madeline began, not meeting his gaze, “It just didn’t suit me at all. I looked silly in the thing. Well, this girl had brought the dress up from the workroom, and when the assistant had asked her something about it, this girl, to show her what she meant, held the dress up as if she was wearing it. And it just suited her. She was the right type for it, just as I was the wrong type.” Madeline paused, “She was a very pretty girl too, and that didn’t make it any better. Well, when I tried the thing on, and looked at myself, I knew it was all wrong. I caught sight of the girl smiling at the assistant -- as if to say: ‘Doesn’t she look silly’ -- and I was absolutely furious. I -- I was very rude to the both of them, and then I went to the manager, and told her that she’d been very impertinent and -- and--”

Madeline stopped for a moment to choke down a sob. The Inspector leaned forwards.

“... And?”

“How could I know what would happen to her afterwards?” She half wailed, “If she’d been some miserable, plain little creature, I don’t suppose I’d have done it. But she was very pretty, and looked as though she could take care of herself. I couldn’t be sorry for her!”

The Inspector sat back, and nodded, “I guess, in a kind of way, you might be said to have been jealous of her.”

“Yes, I -- I suppose I was,” Madeline replied, a little stiffly.

“And so you used the power you had, as a daughter of a good customer and also of a man well known in the town, to punish the girl just because she’d made you feel like that?” He continued, relentlessly.

“Yes, but it didn’t seem to be very terrible at the time!” She wrung her hands fretfully, “Don’t you understand? And if I could help her now, I would--”

“Yes, but you can’t,” The Inspector cut over her, harshly, “It’s too late. She’s dead.”

“My God,” Alfred whispered, then in a louder tone, “It’s a bit thick, when you come to think of it--”

“Oh, shut up, Alfie,” Madeline snapped, “I know, I know. It’s the only time I’ve done anything like it, and I’ll never, never do it again to anybody. I’ve noticed them giving me a hard sort of look sometimes at Milwards -- I noticed even this afternoon -- and I suppose some of them remember. I feel now as though I can never go there again. Oh -- why had this to happen?”

“That’s what I asked myself tonight when I was looking at that dead girl,” replied the Inspector, sternly, “And then I said to myself: ‘well, we’ll try to understand why it had to happen?’ And that’s why I’m here, and why I’m not going until I know all that happened. Elizabeta Hedervary lost her job with Kirkland and Company because the strike failed and they were determined not to have another one. At last she found another job -- under what name I don’t know -- in a big shop, and had to leave just because you were annoyed with yourself and had to pass the annoyance onto her.” He gave Madeline a very hard look, and she flushed embarrassedly. “Now she had to try something else. So first, she changed her name to Elisabeth Farkas--”

“What?” Gilbert cut in, impulsively. The Inspector raised his eyebrows.

“I said she changed her name to Elisabeth Farkas.”

“...D’you mind if I give myself a drink, Maddie?” He suddenly asked her. She merely nodded, frowning at Gilbert as he moved across to the tantalus on the sideboard, to pour himself a whisky. She looked to be quite startled at his interruption -- as did Alfred.

But the Inspector was unperturbed, and turned to Madeline.

“Where is your father, Miss Kirkland?” He asked, politely.

“He went into the drawing-room to tell my mother about what was happening here,” She replied, slowly, “... Alfred, take the Inspector along to the drawing room, would you?”

As Alfred moved, the Inspector gave Madeline and Gilbert one more searching look, before allowing himself to be lead out. The door shut behind them, and their footsteps died away, leaving Madeline and Gilbert -- the engaged couple -- quite alone.

“Well Gilbert?” Madeline asked, looking at him. He grinned.

“Well what, Maddie?”

“How did you come to know this girl -- Elizabeta Hedervary?” She clarified. She wasn’t smiling. 

“I didn’t,” Gilbert replied. 

“Elisabeth Farkas then -- same thing.”

“Why should I have known her?” 

Madeline scoffed, “Oh, don’t be stupid. We haven’t much time. You gave yourself away as soon as he mentioned her other name.”

“All right. I knew her! Let’s leave it at that,” He shot back, suddenly defensive.

“We can’t leave it at that!”

Gilbert huffed, and approached her, whisky glass in hand, “Listen, Maddie--”

“No, that’s no use,” She waved his sudden affectionate tone off, “You not only knew her, but you knew her very well. Otherwise you wouldn’t look so guilty about it. When did you get to know her?”

Gilbert dropped the act immediately and turned away to face the window. It had started raining again, fat drops beginning to hammer the panes. He didn’t answer Madeline, and took another sip of his whisky.

“Was it after she left Milwards?” She pressed, “What she changed her name, as he said, and began to lead a different sort of life? Were you seeing her last spring and summer, all during that time where you hardly came near me and said you were so busy? Were you?”

Gilbert didn’t reply again, but he did look at her. And really, that was all he needed to do.

“... Of course you were,” Madeline finished, quietly, sadly.

“I’m sorry, Maddie. But -- but it was all over and done with last summer!” He protested, weakly, “I hadn’t set eyes on the girl for at least six months! I don’t come into this suicide business!”

“I thought I hadn’t -- half an hour ago,” She replied.

“You still don’t!” He snapped back, “Neither of us does! So -- for God’s sake -- don’t say anything to the Inspector.”

“About you and this girl?”

“Yes,” Gilbert said, shortly, “We can keep it from him.”

Madeline laughed, rather hysterically, though whether it was from the ridiculousness of the situation, or the wine, even she didn’t know.

“Why -- you fool -- he already knows!” Madeline giggled, “Of course he knows! And I hate to think how much he knows that we don’t yet! You’ll see.” She gave another, badly stifled giggle, “You’ll see.”

Madeline gave him a look of triumph. Gilbert met her gaze, scowling, but at the same time looking a little crushed. But their gazes were torn by the door swinging open again, as the Inspector appeared. He gave them -- but mostly Gilbert -- his searching look.

“... Well?”


	4. Gilbert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gilbert confesses his secret.

Madeline gave him a look of triumph. Gilbert met her gaze, scowling, but at the same time looking a little crushed. But their gazes were torn by the door swinging open again, as the Inspector appeared. He gave them -- but mostly Gilbert -- his searching look.

“... Well?”

___________________________________________________

The time was March, 1911, and Gilbert was making his way to the stalls bar at the Palace Variety Theatre -- the music hall in Brumley. It had been a long, tiresome day at the works, and as the show they were putting on didn’t seem to bright, he decided to treat himself to a drink or two instead. Something of which he would have probably done after the show anyway. And it was also known to be a favourite hotspot for woman of the town. 

But Gilbert hated these woman. They were all so dull, with the same hard-eyed, dough-faced features, and the same sense of humour, heart, and mind. He went up to the counter and ordered himself a drink looking around at all these boring, similar ladies.

Boring… boring… dull… yikes, she was a bad one. He took a sip of his drink, and his eyes fell upon someone quite different.

She wasn’t like the other girls. For starters, she was pretty -- actually pretty -- with jeweled green eyes and soft brown hair. Second of all, she looked fierce -- and for good reason too. Aldermand Meggarty looked to be trying to back her into a corner, a notorious womanizer of the town, and appeared to be trying to rape her. Well, the girl didn’t seem like she was having any of that. She was hitting and kicking at the much bigger man -- and for a moment seemed to be winning. Gilbert had to admire her spirit. Not a lot of people could stand up to Alermand Meggarty.

It happened that their gaze had met. He had her backed right up against the wall at this point, his disgusting carcass out. It was here that Gilbert decided to intervene. Leaving his drink on the counter, he marched right up behind him, and punched him hard on the back of the head. Meggarty grunted, and turned, as Gilbert punched him again in the face, then the girl kicked him hard in the balls. He doubled over, wheezing, nose bleeding badly down his face, and clutching his groin. 

Now the girl had her escape, while the man was temporarily out for the count. Gilbert grabbed her hand and all but yanked her out of there, weaving through the people quickly, and took her out of the stalls. Once outside, he finally turned to her. Here, her features were even more beautiful -- if a little dishevelled now.

“Are you okay?” He asked her. Well, it seemed the obvious thing to ask.

“Yeah… yes, I’m fine… you didn’t have to help me, you know. I could have helped myself,” The girl replied. Gilbert gave her a crooked grin.

“Suuuure, you could,” He said, to humour her, “A thank you would be nice, you know.”

“Alright,” She rolled her eyes, but not in a particularly condescending way, “Thank you, I suppose.”

“You’re welcome… I think.” He added that last part in a murmur, and she laughed. 

“What’s your name then, ‘O Knight in Shining Armour?” The girl joked. 

“Gilbert -- or Gil if you prefer -- Gilbert Beilschmidt.”

“Of Beilschmidt’s Limited, by any chance?” She asked, casually. He nodded proudly.

“The very same! What about your name then?”

“Elisabeth. Elisabeth Farkas -- of nothing.”

“Well--” He waved a hand to brush it off, “Nevermind. What’s a pretty young girl like you doing down in the Palace then? Hardly the ideal place for a girl -- unless you’re looking for a little action?” He added, mischievously. Elisabeth smacked his arm.

“Oi, you!”

“Then what?”

“Oh… just looking,” She replied, vaguely, “So what’s a gentlemen like you doing down in the Palace?”

“Just looking!” Gilbert mimicked her tone, and earned himself another eyeroll, “Actually, just to get a drink, and see the show. Wasn’t very good though.” 

“Mm. I hoped it would be better,” She agreed. 

“Well, now we’ve seen it’s awful, should we go somewhere more civilised?” He asked, then paused to grin, “Unless you really are looking for some action, in which case I can provide -- okay, okay, I was joking!” Gilbert held up his hands to prevent her from smacking him.

“Men,” Elisabeth muttered, disdainfully, and lowered her hand. Then she hesitated. “Well… I haven’t much money… so maybe somewhere cheap… unless you’d like to leave now and be done with me? I’m… not exactly the best person for someone of your standing to be talking to now.” She confessed.

“Nonsense! You’re far more interesting than those pimped-up woman my father has me looking at -- and far more prettier than those girls in the Palace!” He added, the offered her his arm, “I know a place. And I’ll pay.”

Elisabeth hesitated again, before taking it. “Oh… alright then. Who am I to refuse?” 

“Exactly! And I mean, the night is still young, right?”

“... Are you talking about sex again?”

Eventually Gilbert lead her to the Country Hotel, a much better place to go than the Palace. Gilbert knew it would be quiet at that time of night. He sat her down at the bar -- and, as promised, paid for her drink. In fact, quite a few drinks.

“So… where do you come from them? Surely not Brumley. You don’t look the sort,” He began, sipping his drink. Elisabeth shook her head.

“Nope! Not Brumley. I had to move here after my parents died -- and we needn’t go into all that,” She said, hastily, “I worked at a factory for a while.”

“Ah. Which one? Was it mine?” 

She shook her head again, “Kirkland and Company. But I left. Well -- I had to.”

“Ooh, naughty girl,” He tutted, but he was joking, “What did you do?”

It was here Elisabeth grinned, “Well… I convinced my girls to go on strike after the holidays. We wanted higher wages, see, but Mr. Kirkland wouldn’t give it to us. The strike didn’t last long -- I should have known, since it was just after the holidays too -- and we had to come back. But since I was one of the people who had started the trouble, they didn’t want me back, and told me to leave. So, I left.”

“So that’s why you were at the Palace tonight?” Gilbert asked, interestedly. After all, she talked far more about herself than any other girl did. Usually, it was just about him -- and as awesome as he was, he didn’t particularly need to hear it from fifty girls at a time.

“No, actually,” Elisabeth confessed, “I had a job after, and had to leave again. I worked in a shop -- and it was a nice one too. I did like working there. But apparently a customer complained about me, so I had to leave again. A shame. That’s why I was at the Palace.”

He chuckled, “What did you do to get fired this time?”

“I don’t know!” She snapped back, but not really snapping at him, “And after I was being good and holding my temper with some of the snobbish folk you get in there! I don’t know what I did!”

“What shop was it?”

“I don’t know. A shop.” Elisabeth replied, quickly, and took a sip of the port. He grinned, and she gave him a funny look.

“... Why’re you grinning like that?”

“I don’t know, really,” Gilbert shrugged, taking a deep swig, “Maybe it’s you. Like I said -- you’re different to the other girls I’ve met.”

“Different… how?” She asked, cautiously.

“You’re more… spirited. And you actually talk about yourself -- and things that are interesting. Honestly, the people my father try and pair me up with -- they’ve got to be trying me with some of the most boring people on the planet!”

Elisabeth snorted, “Or maybe you’re far too eccentric.”

“... Nah. Definitely the girls,” He grinned, and they both shared a laugh. 

“Well… maybe I’m being more loose with my tongue because of the drink,” She replied, once they were done laughing, “It was nice of you to get it for me.”

“No problem!” He waved it off. Elisabeth sighed.

“Wish other people were as nice. Wish my lodgings did free food!” 

“... Why?” 

She flushed suddenly, “I -- no reason.”

“Are you hungry?” Gilbert asked, suddenly concerned.

“... Not really. The drink helps.”

“You are, aren’t you? Well, that’s not good! I’ll get you something!” He suddenly declared.

“Oh -- no, really, it’s fine -- you don’t have to at all--”

“But I want to,” Gilbert cut across her.

“It’ll be far too expensive!” Elisabeth argued, that fierce tone coming back, but Gilbert just shrugged.

“So what? I got money. I can do what I want with it. And right now, I wanna get some food with it. For you.”

“Well… thank you, then,” She said, after a moment’s hesitation. “... That’s very kind.”

“No problem!”

The food was ordered, and Elisabeth, after being quite hesitant to talk about herself again, soon loosened up. Gilbert pressed for details about her past life, and her jobs, but she carefully avoided those questions with her own about him. In turn, she seemed to find the life of rich and comfort fascinating, just as he found it boring. She also was interested in his looks (albino wasn’t exactly common), and his natural language, two things Gilbert was pleased that she didn’t pour scorn on.

Eventually it was time for them to part. Gilbert returned home that night, having no idea how soon he’d see the girl again -- exactly two nights later, again, in the Palace bar. He tapped her on the shoulder from behind, and after she had jumped and nearly spilt her drink, she turned quite angrily, and opened her mouth, before closing it again.

“... Oh. It’s you,” The words seemed to fall out of her mouth. Gilbert only huffed.

“Really? That’s the best you can do? I was expecting a little more enthusiasm!”

“Sorry,” Elisabeth replied, sheepishly, “Been having a bad day.”

“Then my appearance in it ought to make it much better,” he said, brightly. But this time, instead of grinning back, she only turned away, a tired smile on her face. Gilbert frowned. 

“So… what’s up then?”

“I don’t think it really matters to you--”

“You got me curious, c’mon!” He pressed, “I’m not leaving until you tell mee~”

“I really don’t think--”

“Tell me!”

“It’s not--”

 

“Tell me!”

“Gilbert I--”

“Tell me!”

“Alright, alright!” She finally snapped, and elbowed him, “At least give me room to talk, damn you! And let me finish my drink…”

Gilbert whistled lowly, “What a way to talk to someone high-class!”

“Yes, well,” Elisabeth huffed, “You’re being awfully rude and annoying.”

“One of my natural charms.” He shrugged.

“I don’t think you know what that word means. Or how to count.”

Eventually, he did get it out of her: she was to be kicked out of her small lodgings simply because she couldn’t keep up the pay. Gilbert immediately began thinking. One of his friends, Matthew Williams, had gone to Canada for six months, leaving his set of rooms he had to him. Gilbert was to look after them -- and even use them if he wanted to -- until his return. Then, after much persuasion, wheedling, and talking round, Elisabeth finally agreed to stay there. 

It was far, far grander than any place, lodgings or not, that she’d stayed in. When Elisabeth opened the door, it must be confessed that she gave quite a gasp of astonishment.

“Oh -- Gilbert -- it’s so lovely!” She breathed, setting down her small case by the door and having a wander. Gilbert grinned, quite pleased with himself.

“Yes, I suppose it is. And you can use it all you want! Well, until Williams comes back -- but that’s not for another six and a half months. That’s enough time for you, right?” 

Elisabeth grinned, and turned to him, before leaning up, and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“It’s wonderful. I love it. Thank you -- thank you!”

Gilbert was a little taken aback by the kiss, and rubbed his cheek in shock. It was here Elisabeth stiffened a bit, perhaps a little unsure that she should have done that -- and to a man of such high standing.

“...Can I have another?” Gilbert then asked, cheekily, and the tension drained out of her posture.

As well as the rooms, Gilbert also insisted on her taking a bit of money to keep her there. Initially -- and predictably -- she refused. He left the money in a pouch on the counter anyhow, just in case she may change her mind, before he departed.

Things took a turn from there. Although Gilbert knew he was already seeing someone -- a lovely, pretty, but a little shy girl called Madeline from his rival business Kirkland and Company -- he couldn’t help but spend more time with Elisabeth. She became his mistress after only a week -- and he made love to her only a week after that. He felt horribly guilty to Madeline about it -- but it did feel good. 

He began making more and more excuses to her, just to spend more time with Elisabeth. She was spirited, young, pretty, could form her own opinions. He felt happy and relaxed around her, more so than he would another mistress. But, alas, it could not last. As those wonderful -- not only for Gilbert, but for Madeline -- six months closed, he knew he would have to end it soon.

The opportunity came at a perfect time. The first week of September, 1911, and he had to go on a business trip. Gilbert knew he’d have to end it before then. So, after he had finished in the factory, he headed straight towards Morgan Terrance, to see Elisabeth one final time.

“... I’m sorry,” Gilbert muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never meant it to go this far. Really.”

“I understand,” she gave a funny sort of grin, “I knew it had to end sooner or later. Best to do it now, I suppose.”

“I could keep providing for you, though -- at least until the end of the year,” he offered, desperately, “At least let me give you money to last you until the end of the year. I should feel horrible if I didn’t.”

“I…” Elisabeth sighed, “Okay. But only because I know you won’t give up until I’ve accepted it.”

“Thanks.” Gilbert blew out a breath. “You really are a sport. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

“What? Because I can agree to anything you put on me to be tossed aside later?”

“Hey, now you know that isn’t what I meant!”

Elisabeth smiled, “I know, I’m just joking. Remember me though. This -- quite honestly -- has been the happiest few months of my life. I do love you -- even if you don’t love me back.”

Gilbert had nothing to say to that, for once, speechless. He gave her the money, then helped her pack her things, before seeing her out. They talked, they laughed, just like usual, but now there was a clear barrier between them. It was over. Nothing could make those few wonderful months come back. He watched her leave in a cab, of which he paid for, watching until she’d rounded the corner, and completely disappeared. 

Gilbert was truly sad to see her go.

_______________________________________________________

The Inspector remained at the door for a few more moments, before stepping inside. He left the door open behind him, as he placed himself behind one of the dining room chairs, staring intently at Gilbert.

“...Well?” He asked him, quietly. Madeline burst into hysterical giggles once more.

“You see! What did I tell you?!” She accused.

“What did you tell him?” The Inspector asked her.

“Inspector, I think Madeline should go,” Gilbert said, in a tone of forced calm, “She doesn’t have anything else she can tell you. She’s had a long and exciting day -- we were celebrating our engagement! -- and now she’s obviously had about as much as she can stand. You heard her.”

“He means that I’m getting hysterical now,” Madeline hiccoughed, wiping away the last of her tears.

“And are you?” He asked.

“Probably!”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you here. I’ve no more questions to ask you.” 

“No, but you haven’t finished asking questions, have you?” Madeline replied, accusingly.

“No.”

She turned back to Gilbert, “So you see?! I’m staying.”

“Why? You’re only going to get upset -- it’s bound to be unpleasant and disturbing!” Gilbert replied, angrily -- and rather scornfully too.

“So you think young woman should be protected against unpleasant and disturbing things?” The Inspector immediately jumped in. 

“Yes!”

“Well,” He continued, “We know one young woman who wasn’t, don’t we?”

“... Fine,” He muttered, through clenched teeth, “I suppose I asked for that one.” You bastard.

“Be careful you don’t ask for any more, Gilbert!” Madeline put in, beginning to laugh again.

“I meant to say to you -- why stay when you’ll hate it?!” Gilbert shot back at her.

“It can’t be any worse for me than it has been. And it might be better,” she shrugged.

“Oh, I see,” he said, bitterly. 

“What do you see?”

“You’ve been through it -- and now you want to see somebody else put through it.”

“... So that’s what you think I’m really like,” Madeline muttered, “I’m glad I realised it in time, Gilbert.”

“Oh -- c’mon -- Maddie, you know I didn’t mean--”

“Yes you did,” She cut in, “And if you’d really loved me you couldn’t have said that. You listened to that nice story about me. I got a girl sacked from Milwards. And now you’ve made up your mind I must obviously be a selfish, vindictive creature.”

“I didn’t say that!” Gilbert protested.

“Then why say I want somebody else to be put through it? That’s not what I meant at all!” Madeline clapped back.

“... Fine. I’m sorry. Will that do?”

“You don’t mean it,” She replied, dismissively, “And you don’t believe me. And this is just the wrong time not to believe me.”

“Allow me, Miss Kirkland,” The Inspector cut in, taking charge just as Gilbert opened his mouth to retort, looking at him, “I can tell you why Miss Kirkland wants to stay on and why she says it might be better for her if she did. A girl died tonight. A pretty, lively sort of girl, who never did anybody any harm. But, she died in misery -- and agony -- hating life--”

“Oh, don’t, please!” Madeline begged, beginning to wring her hands again, “I know, I know, and I can’t stop thinking about it--”

The Inspector continued on, ignoring her and snubbing her fast, “Now Miss Kirkland has just been made to understand what she did to this girl. She feels responsible. And if she leaves us now, and doesn’t hear any more, she’ll be alone with her responsibility all through tonight -- and tomorrow -- and all of next night--”

“Yes, that’s it!” Madeline tried again, eagerly, “I know I’m to blame -- and I’m desperately sorry -- but I can’t believe -- I won’t believe -- it’s simply my fault in the end that made her commit suicide. That would be too horrible--”

He cut through her again, “You see, we all have to share something. If there’s nothing else, we’ll have to share our guilt.”

She looked back at him for a very long time, eventually stopping the wringing of her hands, “... Yes. That’s true. You know--” Madeline edged closer to him, wonderingly, “I don’t understand about you.”

“There’s no reason why you should,” The Inspector replied, calmly.

Madeline blinked her big eyes in sudden awe. She would have remained that way for some time, if it hadn’t been for the arrival of her mother -- Mrs Kirkland -- Frances. She came sweeping in in her long red dress, pearls hanging around her neck, by her ears, and over her wrists too. She carried elegance, grace and self-confidence -- quite out of key with the scene that just passed.

“Good evening, Inspector,” She smiled, in her pretty french accent.

“Good evening, madam,” He replied, politely.

“I’m Mrs Kirkland,” Frances began, “My husband has just explained why you’re here, and while we’ll be glad to tell you anything you want to know, I don’t think we can help you much.”

“No, mother -- please!” Madeline suddenly cried, and, with strange looks, the room turned to her. 

“What’s the matter, Maddie?” Frances asked, in great surprise.

“Well, I know it sounds silly--”

“What does?”

Madeline just looked at her mother in dismay, “You see, I feel you’re beginning all wrong. And I’m afraid you’ll say something, or do something that you’ll be sorry for afterwards!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Madeline,” Frances replied, confused.

“We all started out like that -- so confident, so pleased, so full of ourselves -- until he started asking questions!” By ‘he’, she obviously meant the Inspector, of which her mother turned to now.

“You seem to have made quite the impression on the child, Inspector.”

“We often do on the young ones,” He replied, coolly, “They’re more impressionable.”

They looked at each other a moment longer, before Frances addressed her daughter once more.

“You’re looking tired, dear,” She began, “I think you ought to go to bed, and forget about this absurd business. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Oh, mother, I couldn’t possibly go!” Madeline exclaimed, “Nothing could be worse for me, we’d settled all that! I’m staying here until I know exactly why the girl killed herself.”

“Nothing but morbid curiosity.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Please, don’t contradict me like that, Maddie,” Frances held up a steady hand, “And in any case, I don’t suppose for a moment that we can understand why this girl committed suicide. Girls of that class--”

“Mother, don’t -- please don’t!” Madeline cried again, “For your own sake, as well as ours, you mustn’t--”

“Mustn’t -- what?” Frances asked, beginning to get a little annoyed, “Really, Maddie!”

“You mustn’t try to build up a wall between us and that girl,” She started again, slowly now, in the hopes to make her mother understand, “If you do, then the Inspector will just break it down. And it’ll be all the worse for you when he does.”

“I don’t understand you,” She replied, dismissively, and turned back to the Inspector, tossing her great blonde head, “Do you?” 

“Yes,” He agreed, “And she’s right.”

“I beg your pardon?!” Frances exclaimed, rather hauntily.

“I said -- yes, I do understand her,” The Inspector repeated, quite plainly, “And she’s right.”

“That -- I consider -- is a trifle impertinent, Inspector!” 

Madeline let out another one of her hysterical laughs. Frances frowned at her.

“What is it, Maddie?”

“I don’t know! Maybe because impertinent is such a funny word!”

“In any case…”

“But mother--” Madeline began again, serious now, “Do stop, before it’s too late.”

“If you mean that he Inspector will take offence--”

“No, no,” The Inspector cut in, calmly, “I never take offence.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Frances said, “Though I must add, it seems to me we have more reason for taking offence.”

“Let’s leave offence out of it, shall we?” He replied, still ever calm.

“I think we’d better,” Gilbert suddenly piped up.

“So do I,” Madeline agreed.

“I am talking to the Inspector now, if you don’t mind,” Frances rebuked them, then looked at the Inspector, and said, in rather a grand tone: “I realise that you may have to conduct some sort of enquiry, but I must say that so far you seem to be conducting it in a very peculiar and offensive manner. You know, of course, that my husband was Lord Mayor only two years ago, and he’s still a magistrate--”

“The Inspector knows that already!” Gilbert cut in, impatiently, “And I don’t think it’s a very good idea to remind him--”

“It’s crazy,” Madeline agreed, “Stop it, mother.”

“Yes,” said the Inspector, imperturbable, “Now what about Mr Kirkland?”

“He’s coming back in a moment,” She sniffed, “He’s just talking to my son, Alfred, who seems to be in a rather excited and silly mood.”

“What’s the matter with him?” He asked.

“Alfred? Oh -- I’m afraid he may have had rather too much to drink tonight. We were having a little celebration here--”

“Isn’t he used to drinking?” The Inspector interrupted.

“Of course not!” Frances replied, waspishly, “He’s only a boy.”

“No, he is a young man,” He corrected, “And some young men drink far too much.”

“And Alfred’s one of them,” Madeline added. Frances could only gasp in shock, putting a hand over her heart in an over-exaggerated manner.

“Madeline! What has gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to get poor Alfred into trouble. He’s probably in enough trouble already,” She began, urgently, hastening her words so she wouldn’t be interrupted, “But we really must stop these silly pretences. This isn’t the time to pretend that Alfred isn’t used to drink. He’s been steadily drinking too much for the past two years!”

“This isn’t true,” Frances whispered, mortified, “You know him -- Gilbert -- and you’re a man. You -- you must know it isn’t true!”

“Well Mr Beilschmidt?” The Inspector asked him, when Gilbert appeared to hesitate.

“... Ja, it’s true,” He eventually gave in, “I haven’t seen much of him out the house -- but from what I’ve seen he drinks pretty hard.”

“And this is the time you choose to tell me,” Frances sniffed, bitterly.

“Yes, of course it is!” Madeline said, “That’s what I meant when I talked about building up a wall that’s sure to be knocked flat. It makes it all the harder to bear.”

“But it’s you!” Her mother snapped, “It’s you -- not the Inspector -- who’s doing it--”

“Yes, but don’t you see? He hasn’t started on you yet!”

Frances took a moment to recollect herself, taking a deep breath, and adjusting the string of pearls around her neck.

“If necessary, I shall be glad to answer any questions the Inspector wishes to ask me,” She began in rather a haughty tone again, “Though naturally, I don’t know anything about this girl.”

“Well… we’ll see, won’t we, Mrs Kirkland?” Replied the Inspector, gravely.

Just then, Arthur entered into the room. He looked rather hot and bothered, and quite angry at the same time too. He closed the door behind him, and looked around at the people.

“I’ve been trying to persuade Alfred to go to bed but he won’t. Now he says you told him to stay up. Did you?” He accused the Inspector, looking over in his direction.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I shall want to talk to him, Mr Kirkland,” The Inspector answered, as if it were obvious. This made him bristle a little.

“I can’t see why you should, but if you must, then I suggest you do it now. Have him in and get it over with, then let the lad go.”

“No, I can’t do that yet,” he replied, not at all apologetically, “I’m sorry, but he'll have to wait.”

“Now look here, Inspector--”

“He must wait his turn,” The Inspector interrupted, with authority.

“You see?” Madeline gave a side glance at her mother. 

“No, I don’t. Please be quiet, Madeline.”

Arthur turned on the Inspector angrily, “I’ve told you before I don’t like your tone nor the way you’re handling this inquiry! And I don’t propose to give you much more rope!”

“You needn’t give me any rope.”

“No-- he’s giving us the rope!” Madeline giggled, hysterically, “So that we’ll hang ourselves!”

Arthur stared at her for a moment, before turning to his wife.

“What is the matter with her?”

“Over-excited. And she refuses to go,” Frances told him, then addressed the Inspector with a sudden anger, “Well come along -- what is it you want to know?”

He nodded, and started again, “At the end of January, last year, this girl, Elizabeta Hedervary, had to leave Milwards because Miss Kirkland compelled them to discharge her. Then, she stopped being Elizabeta Hedervary, looking for a job, and became Elisabeth Fargas, with other ideas. Mr Beilschmidt, when did you get to know her first?” The Inspector wheeled around to turn sharply on Gilbert, yelps of surprise coming from Mr and Mrs Kirkland. 

“I didn’t know her!” Gilbert still protested, angrily.

“It’s no use, Gilbert,” Madeline told him, wisely, “You’re just wasting time.”

“As soon as I mentioned the name Elisabeth Fargas, it was obvious you’d known her,” he said, “You gave yourself away at once.”

“Of course he did,” she put in, rather bitterly. 

“And anyhow, I knew already,” The Inspector continued briskly on, “When and where did you first meet her?”

“All right, if you must have it!” Gilbert snapped, “It was March of last year, in the stalls bar at the Palace.” He paused, “I mean the Palace music hall down here in Brumley--”

“Well we didn’t think you meant Buckingham Palace,” Madeline said, with scorn.

Gilbert gave her a look, “You’re going to hate this, so why don’t you just leave?”

“Nothing could induce me,” She said, with an air of superiority, “I want to know exactly what it means when a man says he’s so busy at the works he can hardly ever find the time to come down and see the girl he’s supposed to be in love with. I wouldn’t miss it for the world’s--”

“Yes,” The Inspector cut over her, moving things along, “Mr Beilschmidt -- in the stalls of the Palace Variety Threatre…?”

“I looked in after a really boring day at the works, and as the show didn’t seem to be very good, I went down to the bar for a drink,” Gilbert continued, defiantly meeting everyone’s shocked gaze, “It’s a favourite haunt of woman of the town--”

“Woman of the town?” Asked Frances, sharply.

“Yes, yes,” said Arthur, impatiently, “But I see no point in mentioning the subject -- especially --” He gestured to his daughter. 

“It would be much better if Madeline didn’t listen to this story at all,” Frances added.

“But you’re forgetting I’m supposed to be engaged to the hero of it!” Madeline reminded them, “Go on, Gilbert. You went down to the bar, which is a favourite haunt of woman of the town.”

“Do you find this amusing--” Gilbert tried to retort, but was cut over by the Inspector.

“Come along, Mr Beilschmidt, what happened?”

“I didn’t propose to stay long down there, I’ll have to know!” He declared to the room, “I hate the woman down there. But I noticed a girl that looked very different. She was very pretty--” Gilbert broke of distractedly for a moment, a look of horror on his face.

“What’s the matter?” The Inspector asked him.

“Mein Gott -- I just realised -- that girl -- she really is -- y’know -- dead--”

“Yes, she’s dead,” He said, harshly.

“And probably between us we killed her,” Madeline added.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Maddie,” Frances said, sharply.

“You’ll see, mother.”

The Inspector looked at Gilbert again, “Go on.”

“She looked young, and fresh, and charming, and completely out of place down there,” Gilbert continued, this time a little less defiantly, “And she obviously wasn’t enjoying herself. Old Joe Meggarty, half-drunk and goggle-eyed, had wedged her into a corner with that obscene fat carcass of his--”

“There’s no need to be disgusting,” Frances cut in, wrinkling her nose, “And surely you don’t mean Alerman Meggarty?”

“Course I do! He’s a womanizer, as well as being one of the worst sot and rogue I’ve ever seen--”

“Quite right,” The Inspector put in.

“Well, really!” Frances exclaimed, quite staggered, “Aldermand Meggarty! I must say, we are learning something tonight!”

“Of course we are,” Madeline replied, coolly, “But everybody knows about that horrible old Meggarty. A girl I know had to see him at the Town Hall one afternoon and she only escaped with a torn blouse--”

“Maddie!” Arthur exclaimed, shocked.

“Go on,” The Inspector pressed at Gilbert again.

“The girl saw me looking at her and gave me a glance that was nothing less than a cry for help,” He continued. At least, how he remembered it. “So I went across and dragged Meggarty off her -- he was unconscious on the floor by the time I was done -- and then I took the girl out of the Palace.”

“Where did you go?” The Inspector asked.

“The County Hotel. I knew it would be quiet,” Gilbert replied, “We had a drink or two -- and we talked.”

“Did she drink much at the time?”

“No -- only a port and lemonade. Or something like that anyway. All she really wanted to do was talk -- I guess Joe Meggarty advances left her feeling a bit shocked--”

He nodded, “She talked about herself?”

“Yes. I asked her questions about herself,” Gilbert replied, if a little defensively, “She told me her name was Elisabeth Fargas, that she’d lost both her parents, that she’d came originally from somewhere outside Brumley. She also told me that she had had a job at one of the works here and had to leave after a strike. She also said something about the shop too, but wouldn’t say much about it. And I couldn’t get any exact details about her past life either.” He paused, looking around at the faces for a moment. “She wanted to talk about herself -- because I was interested and friendly -- but at the same time she wanted to be Elisabeth Fargas, not Elizabeta Hedervary. In fact I heard that name for the first time tonight. What she did let slip was that she was very hard up, and at that moment was very hungry. Well, I made the people at the County get some food for her.”

“And then you decided to keep her -- as your mistress?” The Inspector asked.

“What?!” Frances exclaimed.

“Of course, mother. It was obvious from the start,” Madeline said, dismissively, “Go on, Gilbert. Don’t mind mother.”

“I…” He hesitated, before continuing, “I didn’t immediately. We met two dyas later by accident, and I found out that she was being kicked out of her lodgings. Well, an old friend of mine -- Matthew Williams -- had gone to Canada and had left a nice set of rooms for me to look after. I could even use them if I wanted to. So I made Elisabeth move in, and gave her money to keep her going there.” Gilbert faced the Inspector now. “I want all you to understand that I didn’t do this because I wanted to make love to her. I made her go to Morgan Terrace because I felt very sorry for her, and didn’t like the idea of her going back to the Palace bar. I didn’t even ask for anything in return -- much!”

“... I see,” The Inspector replied, steadily. 

“Yes, that’s all very well, but why are you saying that to him? You should be saying it to me!” Madeline jumped in, staring at Gilbert. He nodded slowly.

“I guess I should, shouldn’t I? I -- I’m sorry, Maddie. Somehow I--”

“I know,” She butted in, but much more gently, “Somehow, he makes you.”

“But she became your mistress?” The Inspector continued.

“Yes, it was inevitable. She was young and pretty and warm-hearted. And I became the most important person in her life. You understand?”

“Yes,” he replied, complacently, “She was a woman. She was lonely. Were you in love with her?”

“Just what I was going to ask!” Madeline added.

“I really must protest--” Arthur tried to interrupt, but was cut off by the Inspector turning on him sharply.

“Why should you do any of the protesting? It was you who turned the girl out in the first place.”

“Well -- well I only did what any employer might have done!” He argued back, quite taken aback at the Inspector's fierce tone, “And what I was going to say was that I protest against the way my daughter, a young, unmarried girl, is being dragged into this--”

“Your daughter isn’t on the moon. She’s here in Brumley too,” He snapped back.

“Yes, and it was I who had the girl turned out of her job and Milwards!” Madeline jumped in, “And I’m supposed to be engaged to Gilbert. I’m not a child, don’t forget, I’ve a right to know! Were you in love with her, Gilbert?”

He paused, “... It’s hard to say. I didn’t feel about her like she felt about me.”

“Of course not,” she replied, with sharp sarcasm, “You were the wonderful Fairy Prince -- the Knight in Shining Armour -- or whatever you fancied. You must have adored it, Gilbert.”

“All right, I did for a time!” He snapped back, going red-faced quickly, “Nearly any man would have done!”

“That’s probably the best thing you’ve said all night,” Madeline said, “At least it’s honest. Did you go and see her every night?”

“No. I wasn’t telling a complete lie when I said I was very busy at the works. We were very busy. But I did see her a lot.”

“I don’t think we want any further details of this disgusting affair--” Frances tried to cut in, but was overridden by her daughter.

“I do. And anyhow, we haven’t had any details yet.”

“Well you’re not going to get any!” Gilbert snapped at her, then to Frances, “And it wasn’t disgusting!”

“It’s disgusting… to me!” She replied slowly, enunciating every word clearly.

“Yes, but after all, you didn’t come into this Mother,” Madeline reasoned.

“Is there anything else you want to know -- that you ought to know?” Gilbert asked, trying to bring it to a close. The Inspector nodded.

“Yes. When did this affair end?” 

“I can tell you exactly -- first week of September. I had to go away for several weeks then -- on business -- and by that time Elisabeth knew it was coming to an end,” He replied, “So I broke it off before I went.”

“How did she take it?”

“Better than I hoped,” He muttered, with a little bitterness there, “She was -- very gallant -- about it.”

“That was nice for you then?” Madeline quipped, with irony. Gilbert shot her a glare.

“No it wasn’t!” He paused a moment before continuing, looking a little troubled, “She told me she’d been happier than she’d ever been before -- but that she knew it couldn’t last. She didn’t blame me at all. I wish she had now. Maybe I’d feel better about it.”

“She had to move out of those rooms?” The Inspector asked.

“Yeah, we’d agreed to that. She’d saved money during that summer -- she’d lived very economically on what I’d given her -- and didn’t want to take any more from me, but I insisted on a parting gift of enough money to last her to the end of the year. Though… it doesn’t seem very much now,” He finished, sadly. 

“Did she tell you what she proposed to do before she left?”

“No. She didn’t want to talk about that. I got the idea she was leaving Brumley though. But I don’t know if she did or not.” Gilbert looked at the Inspector, “Did she?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “She went away for about two months. To some seaside place.”

“By herself?”

“Yes. I think she went away -- to be alone, to be quiet, to remember all that had happened between you.”

“How do you know that?” Gilbert asked him.

“She kept a rough sort of diary,” The Inspector answered, “And she said there that she had to go away and be quiet and remember, ‘just to make it last longer’. She felt there’d never be anything good for her again -- so she had to make it last longer.”

“... Oh.”

There was a moment of silence, where all of them exchanged uneasy looks. Apart from Gilbert, who was watching the rain begin to cease falling on the streets outside. 

“I didn’t see any more of her after that, and that’s all I can tell you,” Gilbert finished, decisively. 

“It’s all I want to know from you,” The Inspector told him, with a slight nod.

“In that case, I want to be alone for a while.” He looked back at the family again, “I’d be glad if you let me go now.”

“Go where? Home?” The Inspector asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No, I’ll just go and -- and walk about for a while. But I’ll come back.”

“All right, Mr Beilschmidt.”

“But just in case you forget, or decide not to come back,” Madeline said, suddenly, and slipped the ring off her finger. “I think you’d better take this with you.”

She flung the ring clumsily in his direction, and he caught it quickly, and stared at it in his palm for a moment.

“I don’t dislike you nearly as much as I did half an hour ago,” Madeline began, “In fact, in some odd way, I rather respect you more than I’ve ever done before. I knew anyhow you were lying about those months when you hardly ever came near me. I knew there was something fishy at that time. And now at least you’ve been honest. And I believe what you told us about the way you helped her at first. Just out of pity.” She sighed. “And it was my fault really that she was so desperate when you met her. But this has made a difference. You and I aren’t the same people who sat down to dinner here. We’d have to start all over again, getting to know each other--”

“Now, Maddie,” Arthur suddenly said, “I’m not defending him, but you must understand that a lot of young men--”

“Don’t interfere please, father,” she interrupted, “Gilbert knows what I mean, and you, apparently, don’t.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Gilbert nodded slowly, and looked up from the ring in his palm. “But I’m still coming back.”

“All right.” Madeline nodded.

“Well, really!” Frances suddenly exclaimed, rather loudly, “I think we’ve just about come to an end of this wretched business--”

“I don’t think so,” Gilbert cut across her, shortly, “Move.” 

With that, he dodged past Frances, past Arthur, through the door and down the hall. The room watched him leave in silence, and in the distance, they all heard the front door slam.


	5. Frances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frances reveals that she saw Elizabeta Hedervary only two weeks prior -- and accidentally condemns her son to a public confession.

With that, he dodged past Frances, past Arthur, through the door and down the hall. The room watched him leave in silence, and in the distance, they all heard the front door slam. 

____________________________________________________

“... You know, you never showed Gilbert the photograph of her,” Madeline said suddenly, when the silence seemed to stretch on. 

“No. It wasn’t necessary. And I thought it better not to,” The Inspector replied, solemnly.

“You have a photograph of this girl?” Frances asked. 

“Yes,” The Inspector nodded slowly, “I think you’d better look at it.”

“I don’t see any particular reason why I should--”

“Probably not,” He interrupted, “But you’d better have a look at it anyhow.”

“Oh… very well.”

This time there was no scrambling to see the photo, no demands to look at it. Most of everyone had seen it already -- and if they hadn’t remembered the girl too well to forget. The Inspector produced the picture for Frances to see, and she looked hard at it.

“You recognise her?” He asked, as he tucked the picture away again.

“No,” Frances immediately replied, a little severely, “Why should I?”

“Of course, she might have changed lately, but I don’t believe she could have changed so much,” The Inspector continued.

“I don’t understand you, Inspector.”

“You mean, you don’t choose to, Mrs Kirkland,” He told her, coolly. She flared up.

“I meant what I said!”

“You’re not telling me the truth.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Look here!” Arthur cut in, rather angry himself, “I’m not going to have this, Inspector! You’ll apologise at once!”

“Apologise for what -- doing my duty?” The Inspector shot back.

“No, for being so offensive about it!” He snapped, “I’m a public man--”

“Public men, Mr Kirkland, have responsibilities as well as privileges,” he cut through him, massively.

“Possibly!” Arthur replied, pompously, “But you weren’t asked to come here to talk to me about my responsibilities.”

“Let’s hope not,” Madeline jumped in, a little scathingly, “Though it does make me wonder.”

“Does that mean anything, Maddie?” Frances asked, sharply.

“It means we’ve no excuse now for putting on airs and that if we’ve any sense we won’t try!” She snapped back, “Father threw this girl out because she asked for decent wages. I went and pushed her further out, right into the street, just because I was angry and she was pretty. Gilbert set her up as his mistress and dropped her again when it suited him. And now you’re pretending you don’t recognise her from the photograph!” She looked at her mother defiantly, “I admit I don’t know why you should, but I know jolly well that you did in fact recognise her, from the way you looked. And if you’re not telling the truth, why should the Inspector apologise? Can’t you see -- both of you -- that you’re just making this worse?”

Madeline looked at both of her parents for a moment, and when they didn’t respond (quite in shock of their daughter), she turned away angrily. They heard the door slam again.

“That was the door,” Arthur stated.

“Gilbert must have come back,” Frances said, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Unless your son has just gone out,” The Inspector pointed out. He nodded.

“I’ll see.”

Arthur fled the scene quickly, and the Inspector then turned upon Frances.

“Mrs Kirkland, you’re a member -- a prominent member -- of the Brumley Women's Charity Organisation, aren’t you?” He asked her. She didn’t respond, only pursing her lips.

“Go on, Mother. You might as well admit it,” Madeline told her, then to the Inspector, “Yes, she is. Why?” 

“It’s an organisation to which woman in distress can appeal for help in various forms,” he continued calmly, “Isn’t that so?”

“Yes,” Frances replied, with dignity, “We’ve done a great deal of useful work in helping deserving cases.”

“There was a meeting of the interviewing committee two weeks ago?”

“I dare say there was.”

“You know very well there was, Mrs Kirkland,” The Inspector said, in a hard voice, “You were in the chair.”

“And if I was, what business of it is yours?” Frances replied, shortly.

“Do you want me to tell you?” He asked, severely, “In plain words?”

But he couldn’t get to tell her, because at that moment Arthur flung the dining room door open again, exclaiming loudly.

“It was Alfred. He’s gone.”

“Have you been up to his room?” Asked Frances, quickly moving around the table to get to her husband. Any excuse to get away from the Inspector now.

“Yes. And I called out on both landings. It must have been Alfred we heard go out,” Arthur answered, and mopped his forehead with a rag.

“Silly boy!” She hissed, “Where could he have gone to?”

“I can’t imagine!” Arthur said, putting the rag back into his pocket, “If he’s in one of his excitable and queer moods, and even though we don’t need him here--”

“We do need him here,” the Inspector interrupted, “and if he’s not back soon I shall have to go and find him.”

Arthur and Frances exchanged bewildered, rather frightened glances. 

“He’s -- he’s probably just gone to cool off,” Madeline reasoned, determinedly, “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“I hope so,” the Inspector replied, severely.

“And why should you hope so?” Asked Frances. He held up a hand in reply.

“I’ll tell you, when you’ve answered my questions, Mrs Kirkland.”

“Is there any reason why my wife should answer questions from you, Inspector?” Arthur flared.

“Yes, and a very good reason,” the Inspector snapped back, “You’ll remember that Mr Beilschmidt told us -- quite truthfully, I believe -- that he hasn’t spoken to or seen Elizabeta Hedervary since last September. But Mrs Kirkland spoke to and saw her only two weeks ago.”

There was a beat of silence.

___________________________________________________

Frances watched the miserable creature leave the room, leaving behind her shawl. Some of the woman she got in here had hardly ever heard of hygene, and though they might be poor and starving, in her opinion there was no excuse. They could at least try for a good first impression with the board, the very thing that could help them. 

“Next!” She called, from her comfortable position in the chair. Frances was very pleased of the fact that she was to be the head of the committee -- for today at least. 

The next woman came in. Well, she wasn’t so much a woman, as she was a girl -- a young girl. And quite a pretty one too, though there was no doubt in her mind that she had been roughing it for some time. Not to mention her swollen stomach. This girl was with child.

“Name?” Frances asked, when the girl had seated herself at the table. The girl paused for a moment, as if thinking.

“... Mrs Kirkland.”

“I beg your pardon? I asked for your name, not mine!”

“That is my name, miss.”

Frances flared immediately. This girl -- this girl had the nerve, the dare to use her name?!

“Well then,” she tried to continue as normal, though her stomach boiled in anger. “What is your claim, Mrs Kirkland?”

“A lodgings, if you please -- just a small one will do. I am with child, you see. I don’t want them to be born into the streets.”

“I see,” she said, “and why should I give it to you?”

“I cannot work,” the girl replied, apologetically, “and I have no husband to work for me. The little money I have is running out fast. I can find my own food and water -- I just need a small lodgings.”

“If you have no husband then why are you a Mrs?” Frances accused. The girl paused.

“... I used to. But he deserted me.”

“And your ring is where?” She questioned, looking at her bare fingers.

“I had to sell it. But the money has ran out.”

“I see,” Frances replied, through a slight scowl. “And you are quite sure you cannot work?”

“I am sure,” the girl put a hand on her stomach, a little protectively. “I am quite sure.”

“Well,” she said, and gave a sigh. “I’m afraid there’s not much we can do for you. You really ought to be getting help from your husband. Can’t you track him down?”

“There is no possible way.”

“I could do it for you,” Frances replied, a little severely, “Just give me your marriage papers, and--”

“Please!” She begged, beginning to feel rather desperate, “Just a small lodgings, for the two months I cannot work! That’s all I ask!”

Frances paused for a long time, staring down the girl. 

“There are plenty of other girls in the same situation as you. Why should you be any different -- especially if you have a husband to care for you already?”

“I…” the girl hung her head. “... Okay. Okay. I have no husband. My name is not Mrs Kirkland -- it was just the first I could think of. I am sorry. But please -- I wasn’t lying about how desperate I am!”

“... I see,” Frances muttered, and lay her pen on the table. “You will tell me the truth now?”

“I will.”

“Very good,” she nodded, “Well then -- I see you are pregnant. Surely the father of your child should be able to help?”

“He cannot,” she replied, in a sad tone.

“Hasn’t he any money? Can’t he work?”

“... It’s… he has tried. I’m terribly sorry, but it’s difficult to explain,” the girl said.

“Try.”

“Well,” she hesitated, “well, he tried to give me money -- quite a lot of money -- but I think he stole it. So I couldn’t take it.”

“Stole it? Whatever do you mean?” Frances asked, sharply.

“Well -- I know he doesn’t work yet, you see, and he has no money himself because he isn’t allowed. And he let slip a hint or two himself. That’s why I think he stole it.”

“Hm, well,” Frances sighed, “There still isn’t much we can do. I suggest making the father of your child work, and provide for you.”

“He -- but he can’t---”

“And why can’t he?”

The girl stared at her in dismay, hand still on her stomach. Frances met her gaze with her own cold disdain.

“...Well? You realise that this should be your responsibility to track him down and -- if he won’t at least marry you -- then support you?”

“It wouldn’t do him any good!” She replied back, fiercely, “He’s not the type of person! I care about him very much -- and to force him to marry me would make him very unhappy! Please! I only need a lodgings for two months -- until I have child and can work!”

Frances ignored her last statement. “Why can’t you marry him again?”

“He -- he is only very young,” she began, “Only a boy -- and he’s silly and drinks too much. Very wild. There can’t be any question of marrying him. Please…”

“... I’ll think about it,” Frances sighed, seeing as she was getting nowhere now. And she was getting rather annoyed with this impertinent girl. “You may leave.”

The girl trudged out again, and Frances sat back on her chair. She felt no pity for her, no regret. Her case wasn’t a very good one, after all, and she was confident that the girl could find the father of her child and make him work for her. Frances thought to herself that she would have the case denied -- and have a more deserving girl be put in her lodgings.

“Next!”  
________________________________________________________

“Mother!” Madeline gasped, astonished.

“Is this true?” Arthur asked her. Frances paused.

“... Yes, quite true.”

“And she appealed to your organisation for help?” The Inspector continued.

“Yes.”

“Not as Elizabeta Hedervary?”

“No. Nor as Elisabeth Farkas.”

“As what then?”

Frances gave an irritated huff through her nostrils. “First, she called herself Mrs Kirkland--”

“Mrs Kirkland!” Arthur echoed, astounded.

“Yes, and I think it was simply a piece of gross impertinence -- quite deliberate -- and naturally that was one of the things that prejudiced me against her case.”

“And I should think so!” Her husband put in, “Damned impudence!”

“So you admit to being prejudiced against her case?” The Inspector asked her, severely.

“Yes,” Frances replied, remorselessly, as she met his gaze.

“Mother, she’s just died a horrible death don’t forget!” Madeline put forth at her Mother’s lack of guilt. 

“And I’m very sorry. But I think she’s only herself to blame.”

“Was it owing to your influence, as the most prominent member of the committee, that help was refused to the girl?” The Inspector asked her.

“Possibly,” she replied.

“Was it or was it not your influence?” 

“Yes it was!” Frances said, stung, and then seated herself at a drawn-out chair to tell them, crossing one leg over the other primly. “I didn’t like her manner. She’d impertinently made use of our name, though she pretended afterwards it just happened to be the first name she thought of. She had to admit, after I began questioning her, that she had no claim to the name, that she wasn’t married, and that the story she told at first -- about a husband who had deserted her -- was quite false. It didn’t take me long to get the truth -- or some of the truth -- out of her.”

“Why did she want help?” The Inspector asked her.

“You know very well why she wanted help!”

“No, I don’t,” He replied, “I don’t know why she needed help. But as I wasn’t there, I don’t know what she asked from your committee.”

“I don’t think we need to discuss it,” Frances sniffed back.

“You have no hope of not discussing it, Mrs Kirkland.”

“If you think that you can bring any pressure to bear upon me, Inspector, then you are quite mistaken!” She cried, annoyed. “Unlike the other three you have so ruthlessly quizzed tonight, I did nothing I am ashamed of or that won’t bear investigation! The girl asked for assistance. We were asked to look carefully into the claims made upon us. I wasn’t satisfied with the girl’s claim -- she seemed to me to be not a good case -- and so I used my influence to have it refused. And in spite of what’s happened to the girl since, I consider I did my duty. So if I prefer not to discuss it any further, you have no power over me to make me change my mind!”

“Yes I have,” the Inspector replied, quietly.

“No you haven’t,” Frances snapped back, nostrils flaring again, “Simply because I’ve done nothing wrong -- and you know it.”

“I think you’ve done something terribly wrong,” he said, solemnly, “And that you’re going to spend the rest of your life regretting it. I wish you’d been with me tonight in the Infirmary. You’d have seen--”

“No, no, please!” Madeline burst forth, “Not that again! I’ve imagined it enough already!”

“Then the next time you imagine it, just remember that this girl was going to have a child.”

“No! Oh -- horrible -- horrible! How could she have wanted to kill herself?” Madeline almost wept.

“Because she’d been turned out and turned down too many times. This was the end,” he said, quietly.

“Mother, you must have known!” Madeline cried, turning on her.

“It was because she was going to have a child that she was turned down from your Mother’s committee,” he continued.

“Look here,” Arthur said, suddenly, “This isn’t Gilbert Beilschmidt--”

“No, no. Nothing to do with him.”

“Thank goodness for that!” Madeline sighed, “Though I don’t know why I should care now.”

“And you’ve nothing further to tell me, eh?” The Inspector asked, turning on Frances again. She pursed her lips.

“I’ll tell you what I told her: Go and look for the father of the child. It’s his responsibility.”

“That doesn’t make it any the less yours,” he pointed out, “she came to you for help, at a time when no woman could have needed it more. And you not only refused it yourself, but saw to it that others refused it too. She was here alone, friendless, almost penniless, desperate. She needed not only money but advice, sympathy, friendliness. You’ve had children. You must have known what she was feeling. And you slammed the door in her face.”

“I think that was cruel and vile, Mother,” Madeline said, vehemently.

“And I must say, Frances,” Arthur began, “That when this comes out at the inquest, it isn’t going to do us much good. The Press might easily take it up--”

“Oh stop it, both of you!” Frances snapped, beginning to wringe her hands a little agitatedly. “And please remember that before you start accusing me of anything that I wasn’t the one who had her turned out of her employment -- which probably began it all.” She then turned to the Inspector.

“In the circumstances I think I was justified. The girl had begun by telling me a pack of lies. Afterwards, when I got the truth out of her, I discovered that she knew who the father was, she was quite certain about that, and so I told her that it was her business to make him responsible. If he refused to marry her -- and in my opinion he ought to be compelled to -- then he must at least support her.”

“And what did she reply to that?” The Inspector asked.

“Oh -- a lot of silly nonsense!” She sniffed back.

“What was it?”

“Whatever it was, I know it made me finally lose all patience with the girl. She was giving herself ridiculous airs. She was claiming elaborate fine feelings and scruples that were simply absurd for a girl in her position!”

The Inspector frowned sternly. “Her position now is that she lies with a burnt-out inside on a slab.” Arthur tried to butt in, but he rounded on him angrily. “And don’t you stammer and yammer at me again, man! I’m losing all patience with you people! What did she say?!”

Frances swallowed, rather cowed, “She -- she said the father was only a youngster -- silly and wild and drinking too much. There couldn’t be any question of marrying him -- it would be wrong for them both. He had given her money but she didn’t want to take any more money from him.”

“Why didn’t she want to take any more money from him?” He asked, beginning to calm down.

“All a lot of nonsense -- I don’t believe a word of it!” She replied, hastily.

“I’m not asking you if you believed it,” the Inspector replied, “I want to know what she said. Why didn’t she want to take any more money from this boy?”

“Oh -- she had some fancy reason,” Frances sniffed, “As if a girl of that sort would ever refuse money!”

“I warn you, you’re making this worse on yourself,” he snapped, “what reason did she give for not taking any more money?”

“Her story was -- that he’d said something one night, when he was drunk -- and it gave her the idea that it wasn’t his money.”

“Where had he got it from then?”

“He stole it.”

“So,” He began again, “She came to you for assistance because she didn’t want to take any more stolen money?”

“That’s the story she finally told, after I’d refused to believe her original story -- the one about her husband deserting her. I didn’t see any reason why this story should be any truer than the last. Therefore, you’re quite wrong to suppose I shall regret what I did.” She ended with a tone of superiority.

“But if her story was true, if this boy had been giving her stolen money, then she came to you for help because she didn’t want to get this boy into trouble -- isn’t that so?”

“Possibly,” she sniffed, “but it sounded ridiculous to me. So I was perfectly justified in advising my committee not to allow her claim for assistance.”

“You’re not even sorry now, when you know what happened to this girl?” He asked her, quietly. Frances nodded.

“I’m sorry she should have come to such a horrible end. But I accept no blame for it at all.”

“Who is to blame then?” 

“First, the girl herself!”

“For letting father and me have her chucked out of her jobs!” Madeline put in, bitterly. 

“Secondly,” Frances carried on as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “I blame the young man who was the father of the child she was going to to have. If, as she said, he didn’t belong to her class, and was some drunken young idler, then that’s all the reason why he shouldn’t escape! He should be made an example of. If the girl’s death is due to anyone, it’s due to him.” She gave a curt, satisfactory nod.

“And if her story was true -- that he was stealing the money--”

“There’s no point in assuming that!--”

“But suppose we do,” the Inspector said, irritably, “What then?”

“Then he’d be entirely responsible -- because the girl wouldn’t have come to us, and have been refused assistance, if it hadn’t been for him--”

“So he’s the chief culprit anyhow,” he pressed.

“Certainly,” she nodded, “And he ought to be dealt with very severely--”

“Mother!” Madeline suddenly exclaimed in alarm. “Stop -- stop!”

“Be quiet, Madeline!” Frances snapped back.

“But don’t you see--”

“You’re behaving like a hysterical child tonight!”

Madeline fell silent, and began crying quietly into her wedding dress. Frances turned back to the Inspector.

“If you’d take some steps to find this young man, and then make sure he’s compelled to confess in public his responsibility -- instead of staying here, asking quite unnecessary questions -- then you really would be doing your duty.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs Kirkland,” he replied, grimly, “I shall do my duty.” The Inspector checked his watch.

“I’m glad to hear it!” Frances said, triumphantly.

“No hushing up, eh? Make an example of the young man, eh? Public confession of his responsibility -- um?”

“Certainly. I consider it your duty,” she nodded, “And now no doubt you’d like to say goodnight.”

“Not yet,” the Inspector replied, “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“To do my duty.”

There was another beat of silence, as the realisation crossed slowly over all of their faces.

“Now mother?” Madeline whispered quietly, “Don’t you see?”

“But surely… I mean… it’s ridiculous….” Frances exchanged a frightened glance with her husband. Arthur cleared his throat nervously.

“Look here, Inspector,” He began, in an unsteady tone. “You’re not trying to tell us that -- that my boy -- is mixed us in this--?”

“If he is, then we know what to do, don’t we?” He replied, grimly, “Mrs Kirkland just told us.”

“My God,” he whispered, thunderstruck, “But -- look here --”

“I don’t believe it…” Frances mumbled to herself, “I won’t believe it…”

“Mother…” Madeline said, “I begged and begged you to stop--”

The Inspector held up a hand to silence her, just as they all heard the front door open with a soft creak. Then footsteps. And then Alfred entered the room, looking pale-faced, dishevelled and distressed. He looked up from his shoes to meet their inquiring stares.

The clock chimed midnight.


	6. Alfred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alfred reveals the final piece to the puzzle, and the Inspector leaves.

The Inspector held up a hand to silence her, just as they all heard the front door open with a soft creak. Then footsteps. And then Alfred entered the room, looking pale-faced, dishevelled and distressed. He looked up from his shoes to meet their inquiring stares.

The clock chimed midnight.   
________________________________________________________

The time was November, 1911, and Alfred… had been drinking. A lot. In fact, the moment he was able to escape his Father’s sight he had snuck off to the Palace stalls bar. Alfred was now utterly drunk with a few of his closer friends, and clumsily flirting with a girl. And a very nice one too; he had stood her a few drinks and now they were talking easily -- although the girl seemed a bit nervous.

Alfred didn’t even know her name. He couldn’t remember anything much they’d been talking about. He only knew -- he wanted to bed her. At the time, it seemed a very grown-up thing to do. He was half-drunk anyhow.

Things seemed a bit of a blur to him. He must have suggested they go to her lodgings, at any rate, because here they were, standing outside her door. Alfred beamed at her, stumbling slightly on the mat.

“W-Well then? We’re not gonna -- s-stand on ceremony, right?” Alfred asked in a bit of a slur, and made to open the door. The girl, however, stopped him, catching his wrist.

“Wait!” She cried, then bit her lip. “... I don’t think I want you in there.”

“Wh-what?” He blanked for a moment, then laughed at her. “Ar, course ya do!”

“No I really don’t think--”

“Do you w-want me to kick up a fuss?” He demanded, and her glare at him wavered. “Because I d-don’t think you do. I can make quite -- quite the racket -- ya know! So we’re a-going in!” Alfred flung the door open, and it banged against the wall. The girl sighed, and seemed to give in.

Maybe they argued more. Maybe they didn’t. Alfred didn’t remember. What he did remember, however, was waking up the next morning in her bed, naked. She was naked too. He could only guess what had happened.

He didn’t feel sorry, as he pulled his clothes on and slipped out of the house. He only felt sorry for himself -- and his killer headache. 

The next time Alfred saw the girl was almost exactly identical to the last time -- except he’d had less to drink and was in a more respectable state. It was about a fortnight later, and he only remember the girl, where she lived and who she even was very vaguely. But somehow, they got talking.

“It was nice of you to buy me drinks again, thank you,” the girl said, as she took a sip of her port. 

“No worries!” He replied easily. “I’ve got money. But still. I’m sorry--” here Alfred gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t remember much about the night -- or much about you.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged it off, “but I take it you remember some things?”

Alfred paused. “... I remember I slept with you. And…” His face turned guilty. “I remember you didn’t really want me too. You were an awful good sport.”

“It’s okay,” the girl repeated, “really. I’m still in one piece, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, then his face lit up. “Hey -- here’s an idea. I’m not so bad this time -- so why don’t you show me yours again? I remember it being quite good fun~”

“If that’s all you remember it can’t have been that good!”

Despite her remark, Alfred did indeed take her home again. He even learned some things about her -- her name was Elisabeth Farkas, she had very little money and was out of respectable work. In his mind, this justified what he did to her the fortnight ago. They talked a bit -- before he made love to her again. 

He wasn’t in love himself. 

They met more often. Almost twice a week in the Palace, then he’d take her home to make love to her. Those were the fun nights -- the enjoyable nights. The nights Alfred liked best. Then, those nights were over, with Elisabeth being the bearer of some news. 

“Alfie?” She began, in a light tone. They hadn’t made love yet -- but they were about too, and Alfred was drunk again. He learned later this was only to butter him up.

“Hmm?” He replied, as he waited for her on the bed. “What is it, Liz?”  
“I… I have some news for you,” Elisabeth said carefully. “But you have to promise not to react badly -- even I’m not so sure of it.”

“Not so sure of what?” He half-laughed, and looked at her. “Spill!”

She hesitated a moment longer, before breaking the news all in a rush. “I think I might be having a baby.”

Alfred blanked. Elisabeth looked steady and almost fierce, but at the same time she was fiddling with her hair.

“Yours,” she clarified. “At least I think so. I -- haven’t really been sleeping with anyone else, you see.”

“I…” He swallowed nervously. “What do you mean? You’re--” Alfred stared at her stomach. “Pregnant?”

Elisabeth nodded miserably in reply. Alfred was still in shock. Pregnant? WIth a child that was his?! If his father ever found out -- what would he say? Would would he have to do? Surely she wasn’t suggesting--

“And before you freak out, I’m not asking you to marry me,” she said, in a clear voice. “You don’t love me -- I know you’re of a much higher class than me -- and you don’t love me either. It would be wrong for both of us.”

“I… don’t know what to say… Liza…”

“Then don’t say anything,” she replied, then sighed and looked away. “... I’m sorry if that was rude. I didn’t know how else to break the news.”

Alfred looked up at her from his shoes. “No, it’s okay. But -- a child?! And -- and it’s mine? You’re sure?!”

“Quite sure…”

“I… wow,” he chuckled nervously. “I… guess that would make me the father, right?”

She nodded.

“So… that means I would have to provide for it… in part at least.”

“Oh-- no, no, I don’t want you feeling you have to do anything--” she began, but he cut across her.

“But I want to. It’s -- it is kinda my fault too,” Alfred fiddled with his hands. “I know you’re poor -- and you have no money. You’ve let things slip. And I never thought much of it… but now… well, I gotta do something!”

“But how will you get the money? You don’t work yet!” Elisabeth argued.

“Oh, I’ll figure out the finer details,” he waved a hand. “I feel like this is my responsibility too. I’ll get you some money -- just you see.”

The opportunity came at the perfect time. The next week, there were some small accounts to collect. Alfred saw his chance, and insisted upon his father that he collect them. Since he knew Arthur found this a tedious job, he agreed quite easily. 

Everything ran smoothly. Alfred asked for cash, received it, then stowed it away. He then gave the firm’s receipt -- and then he could keep the money for himself. The plan was almost too smooth, and he was able to give Elisabeta the money.

“Wherever did you get the money?” She gasped, when she saw the bills in front of her. “Alfie, how did you--”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” He waved it off hastily. “I just did some errands. But it’s yours to keep!”

“All this off doing errands…?”

“They… were very important errands,” Alfred bit his lip, then grinned. “Oh, who cares about how I got it -- it’s yours now! That should last you a good long time, that!”

Alfred kept stealing money for her. In fact, his confidence grew, since he was never caught. His drinking problem didn’t stop either -- and one day he must have let something slip -- because one day Elisabeth refused to take any more of it.

“But… why not?” He asked, deflating.

“Well,” she began, with a slight, irritated huff. “It sounds dodgy! You won’t even tell me where you got the money from for start--”

“I told you, I do errands!”

“For the King?!” Elisabeth snapped back. “There is no way! I’m sorry, but I won’t take it. And,” she added, “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

“What?!” He yelped, and stared at her. “Why?!”

“You’re going to get caught -- you’re drinking and sleeping with me, it’s all wrong! Someone of your class shouldn’t be with me! Hell, you don’t even love me!”

“I can string my old man along for ages yet!” Alfred replied, furiously. “Just take the damn money, you need it!”

“I won’t!”

They rowed all night, but eventually Alfred gave in. He went away from her, taken the last of the stolen money with him. He never saw her again.  
______________________________________________________

“You know, don’t you?” Alfred asked, quietly, in a miserable tone. 

“Yes,” the Inspector confirmed, “we know.”

He shuffled further in, and shut the door behind him. For a moment there was complete silence. Then Frances burst out.

“I can’t believe it! There must have been some mistake!” She cried, distressed, and wrung her hands. “You don’t know what we’ve been saying--”

“It’s a good job for him he doesn’t, isn’t it?” Madeline interrupted, staring at her brother. 

“Why?” He asked.

“Because mother’s been busy blaming everything on the young man who got this girl into trouble,” she answered, “She’s been saying he shouldn’t be able to escape, and should be made an example of--”

“That’s enough, Madeline,” Arthur cut through, in a tone of forced calm.

“You haven’t made it any easier for me, have you mother?” Alfred asked her, bitterly. His gaze dropped to the floor again in shame.

“But I didn’t know it was you -- I never dreamt -- besides you’re not the type--” She looked at him in distress. “You don’t get drunk--”

“Of course he does,” Madeline said, simply, “I told you he did.”

“You told her!” Alfred suddenly yelped, glaring daggers at her. “Why you little sneak--”

“No, that’s not fair, Alfie,” she replied, folding her arms, “I could have told her months ago, but of course I didn’t. I only told her tonight because I knew everything was coming out -- so I thought she might as well know in advance. Don’t forget -- I’ve already been through it.”

“Madeline, I simply do not understand your attitude,” Frances said, faintly. 

“Neither do I!” Arthur snapped, “If you had any sense of loyalty--”

“Just a minute, Mr Kirkland,” The Inspector cut in, “There’ll be plenty of time, when I’ve gone, for you all to adjust your family relationships. But now I must hear what your son has to tell me.” He looked sharply at the three Kirkland’s. “And I’ll be obliged if you’ll let us get on without any further interruptions.” With that, he turned to Alfred, who seemed to shrink a bit.

“Can… I have a drink first?”

“No!” Arthur exploded at once.

“Yes,” The Inspector said. As Arthur turned towards him furiously, he began again, calmly. “Yes, I know he’s your son and this is your house -- but look at him. He needs a drink just now to see him through.”

Arthur puffed up a bit, but then sighed, deflating. 

“Oh -- go on then.”

Alfred immediately went for a whisky. The family and Inspector watched him narrowly as he expertly handled the decanter and then the drink. He was clearly used to handling alochol.

“I understand a lot of things now that I didn’t before,” Arthur put in, bitterly.

“Don’t start on that. I want to get on,” The Inspector told him, then looked at Alfred when he was quite finished. “When did you first meet this girl?”

“One night… last November,” he replied, sadly.

“Where did you meet her?”

“In the Palace Bar,” Alfred answered, “I’d been in there an hour or so with two or three other chaps. I was a bit squiffy.”

“What happened then?” The Inspector then prompted.

“I began talking to her, and stood her a few drinks. I was rather far gone by the time we had to go.”

“Was she drunk too?”

Alfred nodded. “She told me afterwards that she was a bit, because she hadn’t a lot to eat that day.”

“Why had she gone there--?”

“She wasn’t the usual sort,” Alfred said, then paused, contemplating. “No -- no the usual sort at all. But I suppose she didn’t know what to do. There were some woman who wanted her to go there. I never quite understood about that.”

The Inspector nodded, “You went with her to her lodgings that night?”

“Yes, I insisted -- I think. I’m not very clear about it, but afterwards she told me she didn’t want me to go in,” Alfred’s tone turned miserable again. “And -- well -- I was in that state when a chap easily turns nasty -- and I threatened to make a row.”

“So she let you in?”

“Yes. And that’s when it happened,” Alfred fidgeted on his feet, tears suddenly brimming into his eyes. “And I didn’t even remember -- that’s the hellish thing! Oh -- how stupid it all is!”

“Oh -- Alfred!” Frances cried out, a hand over her mouth. “How could you?”

Arthur turned towards his daughter, “Madeline, take your mother along to the drawing-room--”

“But -- I want to--” she immediately protested, to be interrupted.

“You heard what I said,” he replied, sharply. “... Go on, Frances.” Arthur then said, in a gentler tone towards his wife. He opened the door, and the ladies trudged out sadly, Madeline looking back over her shoulder, before Arthur closed the door on her.

“When did you meet her again?” The Inspector asked Alfred, back to business.

“About… a fortnight afterwards.”

“By appointment?”

“No.” He shook his head. “And I couldn’t remember her name or where she’d lived in. It was all very vague. But I happened to see her again in the Palace bar.”

“More drinks?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t so bad that time.”

“But you took her home again?”

“Yes,” Alfred nodded, and seemed to fidget a little less. “And this time we talked a bit. She told me something about herself and I talked too. Told her my name and what I did.”

“And you made love again?” He asked.

He looked down, shamefully. “Yes. I wasn’t in love with her or anything -- but I liked her -- and she was pretty, and a good sport--”

“So you had to go to bed with her?” The Inspector put in, harshly.

“Well, I’m old enough to be married, aren’t I?” Alfred protested, as if to try and justify himself. “And I’m not married, and I hate these fat old tarts round the town -- the ones I see some of your respectable friends with--”

“I don’t want any of that talk from you!” Arthur said, angrily, as that last part was aimed at him.

“I don’t want it from either of you,” The Inspector snapped, “Settle this afterwards. Now Alfred, did you arrange to see each other after that?”

“Yes -- and the next time -- or the time after that -- she told me she was going to have a baby.” He looked down again. “She wasn’t quite sure. And then she was.”

“And of course she was very worried about it?”

“Yes. And I felt in a hell of a state about it.”

“Did she suggest that you ought to marry her?”

“No. Funnily enough -- she didn’t want me to marry her.” A look of stricken confusion crossed his face. “Said I didn’t love her -- and all that. In a way, she treated me as if I were a kid. Tough I was nearly as old as she was.”

“So what did you propose to do?” The Inspector pressed.

“Well…” He bit his lip. “She hadn’t a job -- and didn’t feel like trying for a new one -- and she’d no money left -- so I insisted on giving her enough money to keep her going -- until she refused to take any more--”

“How much did you give her altogether?”

“I suppose -- about fifty pounds.”

“Fifty pounds!” Arthur exclaimed, “On top of drinking and going around the town! Where did you get fifty pounds from?!”

Alfred didn’t reply, and stared at his feet morosely.

“That’s my question too,” The Inspector prompted.

“I -- I got it -- from the office--”

“My office?” Arthur asked, sharply.

“Yes.”

“You mean you stole the money?” The Inspector asked him.

“Not… not really…” 

“What do you mean not really--” Arthur began, but was cut off by the girls coming back into the room. He gave Madeline an angry look, but she just shrugged.

“This isn’t my fault.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Frances began, “But I simply couldn’t stay in there. I had to know what’s happening.”

“Well I can tell you what’s happening!” He said, savagely, “He’s admitted to being responsible for the girl’s condition, and now he’s telling us he supplied her with money he stole from the office!”

“Alfred!” She gasped, “You stole money?!”

“No -- not really!” He replied, desperately, “I intended to pay it back!”

“We’ve heard that story before,” Arthur said, snidely, “How could you have paid it back?”

“I’d have managed it somehow,” Alfred argued, “I had to have some money--”

“I don’t understand how you could take as much as this out of the office without somebody knowing.”

“There were some small accounts to collect,” He began, “And I asked for cash--”

“Gave the firm’s receipt and then kept the money, eh?”

“Yes,” Alfred replied, stoutly.

“You must give me a list of those accounts,” Arthur told him, angrily, “I’ve got to cover this up as soon as I can. You damned fool -- why didn’t you come to me when you found yourself in this mess?”

“Because!” Angry tears began to prickle Alfred’s eyes again. “You’re not the kind of father a person can could go to when he’s in trouble -- that’s why!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” He bellowed back. “Your trouble is -- you’ve been spoilt--”

“And my trouble is that I haven’t much time!” The Inspector cut across, “You’ll be able to divide the responsibility between you when I’m gone. Just one last question, Alfred.”

He nodded in reply, shakily, “Go on.”

“The girl discovered that this money was stolen, didn’t she?”

“Yes. That was the worst of it all,” Alfred mumbled, “She wouldn’t take any more, and she didn’t want to see me again. Here--” His tone turned startled. “How did you know that? Did she tell you?”

“No. I’ve never spoken to this girl.”

“She told mother,” Madeline supplied.

“Madeline!” Exclaimed Frances

“Well he has to know!”

“She told you?” Alfred asked her, surprised, “Did she come here -- but then she couldn’t have done, she didn’t even know I lived here -- what happened?”

Frances pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Come on, don’t just look like that,” He said, sharply, “Tell me -- what happened?”

“I’ll tell you,” The Inspector said, with calm authority, “She went to your mother’s committee for help, after she’d done with you. Your mother refused that help.”

“Then -- you killed her!” He cried. Alfred was now at his breaking point. He pointed a finger at her, shaking all over. “She came to you to protect me -- and you turned her away -- yes, and you killed her -- and the child she’d have had too-- my child -- your own grandchild -- and you killed them both -- damn you, down you--”

“No, Alfred, please!” She rose in her chair as Alfred seemed to advance upon her, taking steps back. “I didn’t know -- I didn’t understand--”

“You never understood anything!” He shouted, and raised a hand, “You never did, you never even tried -- you--” 

“Alfred, don’t!--” Madeline cried, frightened, and stepped back herself, “Don’t -- don’t--”

Arthur didn’t step back, he took Alfred by the arm to stop him. “Why you hysterical young fool! Get back -- or I’ll--”

“STOP!”

Everything went quiet at the sound of the Inspector’s shout. Alfred dropped his hand, Arthur let go of him, and Frances appeared to look quite faint. Madeline herself looked to be on the verge of tears at her family’s row. However, the Inspector’s posture looked still calm, although his eyes burned in rage.

“Be quiet for a moment and listen to me. I don’t need to know any more. Nether do you. The girl killed herself -- and died a horrible death. But each of you helped to kill her, remember that. Never forget it.”

He looked at each of the family member’s in turn, carefully, ending on Frances.

“But then I don’t think you ever will. Remember what you did, Mrs Kirkland. You turned her away when she most needed help. You refused her even the pitiable bit of organised charity you had in your power to grant her.” He then looked at Alfred.

“Remember what you did--”

“My God,” He mumbled, unhappily, “I’m not likely to forget it.”

“Just used her for the end of a stupid, drunken evening, as if she were an animal, a thing, not a person. No, you won’t forget.” He looked at Madeline, who in turn looked down at the floor.

“I know,” she said, bitterly, “I had her turned out of her job. I started it--”

“You helped -- but you didn’t start it,” The Inspector looked towards Arthur, and said rather savangely. “You started it. She wanted twenty-five shillings a week instead of twenty-two and six. You made her pay a heavy price for that. And now she’ll make you pay a heavier price still.”

“Look, Inspector,” Arthur began, unhappily -- and perhaps even a bit desperately. “I’d give thousands -- yes, thousands--”

“You’re offering the money at he wrong time, Mr Kirkland,” The Inspector said, with a solemn shake of his head. He surveyed the family sardonically, as he shut his notebook. “No, I don’t think any of you will forget. Nor that young man, Beilschmidt, though he at least had some affection for her and made her happy for a time. Well, Elizabeta Hedervary is gone now. You can’t do her any more harm. And you can’t do her any good now, either. You can’t even say ‘I’m sorry Elizabeta Hedervary’.”

“That’s the worst of it,” Madeline mumbled. She was crying.

“But just remember this,” The Inspector said, standing up a little straighter, “One Elizabeta Hedervary is gone -- but there are millions and millions of Elizabeta Hedervary’s still left with us, with their lives, their hopes and their fears, their suffering and their chance of happiness, all entwined with our lives, what we think, say and do. We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the chance will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish. Good night.”


	7. Gilbert's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gilbert returns, bearing more, this time slightly happier, news.

“But just remember this,” The Inspector said, standing up a little straighter, “One Elizabeta Hedervary is gone -- but there are millions and millions of Elizabeta Hedervary’s still left with us, with their lives, their hopes and their fears, their suffering and their chance of happiness, all entwined with our lives, what we think, say and do. We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the chance will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish. Good night.”  
____________________________________________________

The room was in a depressingly tattered state. The upheaval of the Inspector’s words had caused rows of which glasses had been knocked over, and drinks to be poured sloppily. Yet the people inside the room remained in absolute silence for the full of five minutes. Madeline’s makeup was running down her cheeks, her mother’s dress was hanging limp about her, and Arthur had taken off his bow tie. He’d long since stopped trying to straighten it. Alfred looked the worst -- alcohol-soaked and clothes dirty and ragged. There was no trace of the happy family dinner left. There was nothing left but rags and ruin -- and gloom that pressed in on all sides. 

It was Arthur who moved first -- towards the table -- and poured himself a drink carefully. He knocked it back in one. Then, he looked at his son, with an accusatory scowl on his face.

“You’re the one I blame for this,” he stated, angrily.

“I’ll bet I am,” Alfred replied. He didn’t look at his father when he spoke, and his tone was gloomy. 

“Yes!” Arthur snapped back, “And you don’t realise yet all you’ve done! Most of this is bound to come out. There’ll be a public scandal!”

“Well, I don’t care now.”

“You! You don’t seem to care about anything!” Arthur slammed his glass down on the table, making the cutlery rattle. “But I care! I was almost certain for a knighthood in the next Honours List--”

Arthur stopped when he realised Alfred was laughing at him. It wasn’t a happy laugh, more a hysterical, scathing, almost downright angry laugh.

“Oh -- for God’s sake!” He cried, “What does it matter now that they give you a knighthood?”

“It doesn’t matter to you, obviously!” Arthur blustered, beginning to turn red with frustration. “Apparently nothing matters to you! But it may interest you to know that until you’ve paid back every penny of the money you stole, you’ll work for nothing. And there’s going to be no more of this drinking, this going round the town, picking up woman in the Palace Bar--”

“I should think not,” Frances suddenly said. She had come back to life at the mention of Alfred and his habits. “Alfred, I’m absolutely ashamed of you!”

“Well, I don’t blame you,” he replied, slumping in his chair. “But don’t forget. I’m ashamed of you as well -- yes, both of you.”

“Drop that!” Arthur snarled, “There’s every excuse for both what your mother and I did -- it turned out unfortunately is all--”

“That’s all?” Madeline snapped, jumping in. She had risen from her chair, her eyes quite dry now.

“Well, what do you have to say?” Arthur asked her. 

“I don’t know where to begin!”

“Then don’t begin,” he shot back, “no one wants you to.”

“I behaved badly too!” She said, “I know I did. I’m ashamed of it. But now you’re beginning all over again to pretend that nothing much has happened--”

“Nothing much has happened?!” Arthur snapped, “Haven’t I already said that there’ll be a public scandal -- unless we’re lucky -- and who here will suffer from that more than I will?”

“But that’s not what I’m talking about. I don’t care about that. The point is, you don’t seem to have learnt anything!”

“Don’t I?” He sneered, “Well you’re quite wrong there. I’ve learned plenty tonight. And you don’t want me to tell you what I’ve learnt, I hope. When I look back on tonight -- when I think of what I was feeling when the five of us sat down to dinner at that table--”

“Yes, and do you remember what you said to Gilbert and me after dinner, when you were feeling so pleased with yourself?” Alfred suddenly asked. “You told us that a man has to make his own way, and look after himself, and mind his own business, and that we weren’t to take any notice of these cranks who tell us that everybody has to look after everybody else, as if we were all mixed up together. Do you remember? Yes -- and then one of those cranks walks in -- the Inspector.” He laughed bitterly. “I didn’t notice that you told him that it’s every man for himself.”

“Is that when the Inspector came, just after father had said that?” Madeline suddenly asked, sharply. 

“Yes? What of it?” 

“Now what’s the matter, Madeline?” Frances asked, wearily.

“It’s queer… very queer…” she mumbled, looking around the room reflectively, and rubbing her nose. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” her mother chipped in, “because I’ve been wondering it myself.”

“It doesn’t much matter now, of course,” Madeline said, slowly, “But was he really a police Inspector at all?”

“Well if he wasn’t, it matters a devil of a lot!” Arthur suddenly exclaimed, with some excitement. “Makes all the difference!”

“No it doesn’t,” she told him.

“Don’t talk rubbish. Of course it does.”

“Well, it doesn’t to me. And it oughtn’t to you, either.”

“Don’t be childish, Madeline!” Frances scolded.

“I’m not being!” She snapped back, flaring up, “If you want to know, it’s you two who are being childish -- trying not to face the facts!”

“I won’t have that sort of talk,” Arthur said, sternly, “Any more of that and you’ll leave this room!”

“That’ll be terrible for her, won’t it?” Alfred muttered, scathingly.

“I’m going anyhow in a minute or two,” said Madeline, sniffing, “But don’t you see, if all that’s come out tonight is true, then it doesn’t much matter who it was that made us confess. And it was true, wasn’t it? You turned the girl out of one job, and I had her out of another. Gilbert kept her -- at a time when he was supposed to be too busy to see me. Alfred -- well we all know what Alfred did.” She gave a pitying lok towards her brother, but he looked away mopily. “And mother hardened her heart and gave her the final push that finished her. That’s what’s important! Not whether a man is a police Inspector or not!”

“He was out police Inspector all right,” Alfred mumbled.

“That’s what I mean, Alfie. But if it’s any comfort to you -- and it wasn’t to me -- I have an idea -- and I had it all along vaguely -- that there was something curious about him. He never seemed like an ordinary police Inspector--”

“You’re right! I felt it too!” Arthur exclaimed, excited once more. He turned to his wife. “Didn’t you?”

She nodded. “Well I must say his manner was quite extraordinary; so -- so rude -- and so assertive--”

“Then look at the way he talked to me!” Arthur said, “Telling me to shut up -- and so on. He must have known I was an ex-Lord Mayor and a magistrate and so forth. Besides -- the way he talked -- you remember. I mean, they don’t talk like that. I’ve had dealings with dozens of them.”

“All right,” Madeline agreed, “but it doesn’t make any real difference, y’know.”

“Of course it does,” said Frances.

“No, Maddie’s right,” Alfred chimed in. “It doesn’t.”

“That’s comice that is, coming from you!” Arthur snapped at his son, angrily, “You’re the one it makes most difference to! You’ve confessed to theft, and now he knows all about it, and he can bring it out at the inquest, and then if necessary carry it to court. He can’t do anything to your mother and Madeline and me -- except perhaps make us look a bit ashamed of ourselves in public -- but as for you, he can ruin you, you know.”

“We hardly ever told him anything he didn’t know…” Madeline said, slowly, “Did you notice that?”

“That’s nothing. He had a bit of information, left by the girl, and made a few smart guesses -- but the fact remains that if we hadn’t talked so much, he’d have little to go on,” Arthur replied, then shot an angry look at his children. “And really, when I come to think of it, why you all had to go, letting everything come out like that, beats me.”

“It’s all right talking like that now,” she sniffed, looking coldly back at him, “but he made us confess.”

“He certainly didn’t make me confess -- as you call it,” Frances told them, “I told him quite plainly I thought I had done no more than my duty!”

“Oh -- mother!”

“The fact is that you’ve allowed yourselves to be bluffed,” he nodded, “yes, bluffed!”

“Now really -- Arthur--” His wife protested.

“No, not you, my dear. But these two.” Arthur turned back to his children. Madeline looked frustrated, and even Alfred was looking a little indignant. “That fellow obviously didn’t like us. He was prejudiced from the start. Probably a Socialist or some crank -- he talked like one. And then, instead of standing up to him, you let him bluff you into talking about your private affairs. You ought to have stood up to him.”

“Well, I didn’t notice you standing up to him,” Alfred said, sulkily.

“No, because by that time you’d admitted you’d been stealing money. What chance had I after that? I was a fool not to have insisted on seeing him alone.”

“That wouldn’t have worked,” dismissed Alfred.

“Of course it wouldn’t,” Madeline agreed.

“Really, from the way you children talk, you might wanting to help him instead of us,” Frances shook her head, “Now can we just be quiet so that your father can decide what we ought to do.” She looked at him, expectantly.

“Yes, well,” Arthur said, shifting a bit, “We ought to do something -- and get to work quickly too.”

He hesitated and -- mercifully -- the front door rang yet again. Everyone exchanged uneasy looks. Was the Inspector back?

“Now who’s this? Had I better go?” Arthur asked the room in general.

“No. The maid’ll go. I asked her to wait up to make us some tea,” answered his wife.

“It might be Gilbert coming back,” Madeline reasoned. 

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Arthur, relieved, “I’d forgotten about him.”

Just then, the maid appeared in the doorway.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt,” she told them, then stepped aside to let him through.

“I’ve come back. I said I would,” he said, as he walked into the room. Madeline nodded.

“Of course.”

“I had a special reason for coming,” Gilbert went on, then looked around the room. “... When did the Inspector go?”

“Only a few minutes ago. He put us all through it--”

“Madeline!” Frances warned.

“Gilbert might as well know,” she replied, shrugging.

“Now, now. We needn’t bother him with all that stuff,” Arthur said, hastily. 

“All right,” she muttered, “but we were all in it -- up to the neck. It got worse after you left.”

“How did he get?”

“He was -- frightening.”

“If you ask me, he was behaving in a very peculiar and suspicious manner!” Arthur said at once.

“The way he spoke to my husband and I,” Frances agreed, “It was quite extraordinary!”

“Hm-hm!” Gilbert suddenly cracked a grin, and they all looked at him in surprise. Then Arthur’s eyes lit up.

“You know something. What is it?”

“That man wasn’t a police officer,” he replied, proudly.

“What?” Arthur asked, astounded.

“Are you certain?” Frances chimed in.

“I’m almost certain. That’s why I came back to tell you.”

“Good lad!” Arthur said, standing a little straighter, “You asked about him?”

“Yep!” Gilbert nodded, “I met a police sergeant I know down the road. I asked about him and this Inspector Dimitrov, and described him carefully to him. He swore there wasn’t any Inspector Dimitrov or anybody like him on the force here!”

“You didn’t tell him--”

“No, no. I passed it off by saying I’d been having an argument with somebody,” Gilbert brushed it off, “But the point is -- this sergeant was dead sure they hadn’t any Inspector at all like the guy who came here!”

“By Jingo!” Arthur cried out. “A fake!”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Asked Frances, triumphantly, “Didn’t I say I couldn’t imagine a real police Inspector talking to us like that?”

“Well, you’re right. There isn’t any police Inspector. We’ve been had!” Gilbert said.

Arthur began to move. All eyes followed him. “I’m going to make certain of this.”

“What are you going to do?” His wife quizzed.

“Ring up the Chief Constable -- Colonel Braginsky.”

“Careful what you say, dear.”

Arthur nodded, at the telephone now, and began to dial in. “Brumley, eight, seven, five, two.” As he waited for the phone, he looked up at the others. “I was going to do this anyhow. I’ve had my suspicions all along.

“Colonel Braginsky, please. Mr Arthur Kirkland here… Oh, Braginsky -- Kirkland here. Sorry to ring you up so late but could you tell me if an Inspector Dimitrov has joined your force lately?”

The room was quiet, and at the telephone, one could just hear the sound of Braginsky’s voice at the receiver.

“A who?”

“Dimitrov. D-I-M-I-T-R-O-V.”

“Uhhh… and he is looking like…?”

“A new man… quite tall… clean shaven… uhh, foreign-looking? He had an accent, at least. Black hair, pale skin…”

“No. I am sorry, but we haven’t had anyone like that.”

“Oh, I see! Yes…” Arthur began to laugh, a little jiovally now. “Well that settles it…”

“Why are you wanting to know? Are you in trouble?”

“No, no! Just a little argument we were having here…” he replied, quickly, “Goodnight.” Arthur put down the phone, then turned to them all, smiling now. Actually, it was more of a grin.

“There’s no Inspector Dimitrov on the police. That man definitely wasn’t a police Inspector after all. As Gilbert says -- we’ve been had.”

“I felt it all the time,” Frances said, collapsing into a chair at the table. Now the matter had been resolved, she was beginning to put on airs again. “He never talked like one. He never even looked like one!”

“This makes a difference, you know!” Arthur said, excitedly. “It makes all the difference!”

“Of course!” Gilbert agreed.

“I suppose we’re all nice people now…” Madeline muttered, bitterly.

“If you’ve nothing sensible to say, Madeline, be quiet,” Arthur said to her.

“She’s right though,” Alfred told him.

“And you’d better keep quiet anyhow!” He snapped back at his son, “If that had been a police Inspector, and he’d heard you confess--”

“Arthur -- careful!” Frances warned, looking at Gilbert.

“Yes, yes…” he trailed off, hastily.

“You see, Gilbert,” Madeline began, “you haven’t to know the rest of our crimes and idiocies.”

“That’s all right, I don’t want to,” he put in, hastily, then said to Arthur, “So what do you make of all this now? A hoax?”

“Of course!” Arthur nodded. “Somebody put that fellow up to coming here and hoaxing us. There are people in this town who dislike me enough to do that. We ought to have seen it through from the first. In the ordinary way, I believe, we would have done. But coming like that, bang on top of our little celebration, just when we were feeling all pleased with ourselves, naturally, it took me by surprise.”

“I wish I’d been here when that man first arrived,” Frances nodded along, “I’d have asked him a few questions before allowing him to ask us any.”

“It’s all right saying that now,” Madeline repeated, icily.

“I was the only one of you that didn’t give in to him,” she sniffed in reply, “And now I say we must discuss this business quietly and sensibly and decide if there’s anything to be done about it.”

“You’re absolutely right, my dear,” Arthur said, with hearty approval. “Already we’ve discovered one important fact -- that a fellow was a fraud and we’ve been hoaxed -- and that may not be the end of it by any means!”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Gilbert agreed.

“You are, hm? Good!” Arthur nodded at him, then looked sternly at Alfred. He was fidgeting restlessly. “Alfred, keep quiet.”

“I’m all right,” Alfred muttered, sulkily.

“All right? You’re anything but alright! And you needn’t sit there -- as if -- as if--”

“As if -- what?” He replied, rudely.

“As if you’d nothing to do with us!” He snapped back, “Just remember your own position, young man! If anybody’s up to their neck in this, you are, so you’d better take some interest in it.”

“I do take some interest in it,” Alfred said, “I take too much -- that’s my trouble.”

“It’s mine too,” Madeline agreed.

“Now listen, you two,” Arthur said, with a forced sigh, “If you’re still feeling on edge, then the least you can do is keep quiet. Leave this to us. I admit that fellow’s antics rattled us a bit. But we’ve found him out -- and all we have to do is keep our heads. Now it’s our turn.”

“Our turn to do -- what?” She asked.

“To behave sensibly, Madeline -- what is more than you’re doing,” Frances cut in, sharply.

“What’s the use of talking about behaving sensibly?” Alfred burst out. “You’re beginning to pretend now that nothing’s really happened at all! And I can’t see it like that. The girl’s still dead, isn’t she? No one brought her back to life, have they?”

“That’s just what I feel, Alfred!” Agreed Madeline again, eagerly, “And it’s what they don’t seem to understand.”

“Whoever that chap was, the fact remains that I did what I did. And mother did what she did. And the rest of you did whatever you did to her. It’s the same rotten story whether it’s been told by a police inspector or by somebody else.

“According to you I ought to feel a lot better--” Alfred looked at Gilbert. “I stole some money, Gil, you might as well know--”

Arthur opened his mouth to burst, but Alfred got there first.

“I don’t care, let him know. The money’s not the important thing. It’s what happened to the girl and what we did to her that matters. And I still feel the same about it, and that’s why I don’t feel like sitting down and having a nice, cosy talk.”

“And Alfred’s absolutely right,” his sister chimed in, “It’s the best thing any one of us has said tonight, and it makes me feel just a bit less ashamed of us. You’re just beginning to pretend all over again.”

“Look -- for God’s sake!” Arthur exploded.

“Arthur!” Frances protested, at his shouting.

“Well, my dear, they’re just so damned exasperating! They just won’t try to understand our position or to see the difference between a lot of stuff like this coming out in private and a downright public scandal!”

“And I say that’s the girl’s dead and we all helped to kill her!” Alfred shouted back, angry. “That’s what matters--”

“And I say -- either stop shouting or get out!” Arthur threatened. Then he quietened and fixed his son in a glare. “Some father’s I know would have kicked you out of the house anyhow by this time. So hold your tongue if you want to stay here.”

“I don’t give a damn now whether I stay here or not,” Alfred muttered, bitterly.

“You’ll stay here long enough to give me an account of that money you stole,” he replied, nastily, “Yes, and to pay it back too.”

“But that won’t make Elizabeta Hedervary come back to life, will it?” Asked Madeline.

“And it doesn’t help alter the fact that we all helped to kill her,” her brother added.

“But is it a fact?” Gilbert suddenly asked.

“I suppose you’re going to prove now that you didn’t spend last summer keeping this girl, instead of seeing me, eh?” Madeline shot at him.

“I did keep a girl last summer. I’ve admitted it. And I’m sorry, Maddie.”

“Well I must admit you came out better than the rest of us. The Inspector said that.”

“He wasn’t an Inspector,” Arthur growled out.

“Well he inspected us all right!” Madeline flared, “And don’t let’s start dodging and pretending now. Between us we drove that girl to commit suicide!”

“Did we? Who says so?” Gilbert suddenly asked, and a grin began to spread out across his face again. “Because I say -- there’s no more real evidence we did than there was that that chap was a police Inspector!”

“Of course there is!” Madeline snapped back.

“No, there isn’t. Look at it. A man comes here, pretending to be a police Inspector. It’s a hoax. Now what does he do? Very artfully, working on bits of information he’s picked up here and there, bluffs us into confessing that we’ve been mixed up into this girl’s life -- one way or another.”

“And so we have!” Alfred replied, angrily.

“But how do we know it’s the same girl?”

A ring of silence went around the room after that statement, as it dawned on everyone in the room. Gilbert folded his arms, triumphantly.

“Now -- now wait a minute!” Arthur cried, being the first to respond, “Let’s see how that would work. Now--” he hesitated. “... No. It wouldn’t.”

“We all admitted it,” Alfred said.

“Alright, you admit you had something to do with a girl. But how do you know it’s the same girl?” Gilbert looked at Arthur. “You sacked someone called Elizabeta Hedervary. You’d forgotten, but he shows you a photo of her, and you remember. Right?”

“Yes, that part’s straightforward enough,” Arthur nodded, “But what then?”

“And then he happens to know that Madeline once had a girl sacked from Milward’s shop. He tells us that it’s the same Elizabeta Hedervary. And he shows her a photo that she recognises.”

Madeline nodded. “The same photograph.”

“How do you know it’s the same photograph though?” He accused, “Did you see the one your father looked at?”

“... No. I didn’t.”

“And did your father see the one he showed you?”

“No, he didn’t. I think I see what you mean now,” Madeline began, slowly. Gilbert nodded, triumphantly.

“We’ve no proof that it was the same photograph and therefore no proof that it was the same girl!” He began to pace up and down the length of the table. “Now take me. I never saw a photo, remember? He caught me out suddenly by saying the girl changed her name to Elisabeth Farkas. I gave myself away at once because I’d known a Elisabeth Farkas.”

“And there wasn’t the slightest proof that this Elizabeta Hedervary was Elisabeth Farkas!” Arthur cried, suddenly cottoning on. “We’ve only his word for it, and his word for it that he was a police Inspector, and we know now he was lying. So he could have been lying all the time!”

“Of course he could! Probably was,” Gilbert said, “But what happened after I left?”

“I was upset because Alfred had left the house, and this man said that if Alfred didn’t come back, he’d have to go look for him,” Frances filled in, “And that made me feel worse still. And his manner was so severe and he seemed so confident. Then quite suddenly he said I’d seen Elizabeta Hedervary only two weeks ago!”

“Those were his exact words,” Arthur confirmed.

“And like a fool, I said I had.”

“I don’t see now why you did that,” he told her, “she didn’t call herself Elizabeta Hedervary when she came to see you at the committee, did she?” 

“No, of course she didn’t. But, feeling worried, when he suddenly turned on me with those questions, I answered more or less how he wanted me to answer.”

“But, Mother,” Madeline protested, “Don’t forget that he showed you a photograph of the girl before that, and you obviously recognised it.”

“Did anybody else see it?” Gilbert asked her.

“No, he only showed it to me,” Frances filled in again.

“Then, don’t you see, that there is still no proof that it was the same girl,” Gilbert nodded, “He might have shown you a picture of any girl that applied to the committee. And how do we know that she really was Elizabeta Hedervary or Elisabeth Farkas?”

“Gilbert’s dead right,” Arthur agreed, “He could have used a different photograph each time and we’d be none the wiser. We may have all been recognising different girls.”

“Exactly!” He exclaimed, then looked at Alfred. “Did he ask you to see a photo?”

“No,” Alfred shook his head, “He didn’t need one by the time he got round to me. But obviously I knew it must be the same girl that went round to see mother.”

“Why must it?”

“She said she had to have help because she wouldn’t take any more stolen money. And the girl I knew had told me that already.”

“Even then, it may have all been nonsense,” Gilbert reasoned.

“I don’t see much nonsense about it when a girl goes and kills herself,” he argued back, “You lot may be letting yourselves out nicely, but I can’t. Nor can mother. We did her in all right.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Arthur said, eagerly, “Don’t be in such a hurry to put yourself into court. That interview with your mother could have been just as much of a put-up job, like all this police inspector business! The whole damned thing could have been a piece of bluff!”

“How can it? The girl is dead, isn’t she?” Alfred snapped back.

“What girl? There were probably four or five different girls,” pointed out Gilbert.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Alfred replied, sinking back into misery, “The one I knew is dead.”

“Is she though?” Arthur asked, excitedly, “How do we know she is?”

“That’s right!” Gilbert nodded, “You’ve got it. How do we know any girl killed herself today?”

“Now answer that one!” Arthur added, looking around at them all triumphantly, “Let’s look at it from this fellow’s point of view: we’re having a little celebration here and are all feeling pleased with ourselves. Now he has to work a trick on us. We the first thing he has to do is give us such a shock that after he can bluff us all the time! So he starts right off. A girl has just died in the Infirmary. She drank some strong disinfectant. Died in agony--”

“All right, don’t pile it on,” Alfred said.

“There you are, you see! Just repeating it shakes you a bit!” Arthur accused, victoriously, “And that’s what he had to do! Shake us at once -- and then start questioning us -- so we don’t know where we are! Oh -- let’s admit that. He had the laugh of us all right.”

“He could laugh his head off,” said Alfred, “If I knew it really was all a hoax.”

“I’m convinced it is,” Arthur replied, “No police inquiry. No one girl that this all happened to. No scandal--”

“And no suicide?” Madeline finished.

“Well we can settle that at once!” Gilbert announced, decisively.

“How?” She replied.

“By ringing up the Infirmary,” he replied, “either there is a dead girl -- or there isn’t.”

“It will look a bit queer though, won’t it?” Arthur said, uneasily, “Ringing up at this time of night--”

“I don’t mind doing it,” Gilbert said, as he confidently strode over to the telephone.

“And if there isn’t--” Frances realised.

“Anyway, we’ll see.” He picked up the phone, and looked up the number, then began to dial while the others watched, tensely. 

“Brumley, eight, nine, eight, six… Is that the Infirmary? This is Mr Gilbert Beilschmidt -- of Beilschmidt Limited… yes… we’re rather worried about one of our employees. Have you had a girl been brought in this afternoon, who committed suicide by drinking disinfectant -- or any like suicide? Yes, I’ll wait.”  
They all waited on edge. Madeline was wringing her hands again, as was her mother. Alfred kept fidgeting in his chair. Arthur made no motion, but leaned towards the phone slightly.

“Yes? You’re certain of that?” Gilbert eventually spoke again, at the unintelligable voice at the phone, “... I see. Well, thanks so much. Goodnight.” He put the phone down.

“Well?” Arthur demanded.

“No girl has died in there today,” he revealed, grinning, “Nobody’s been brought in having drank disinfectant. In fact, they haven’t had a suicide for months.”

“There you are!” Arthur yelled, “Proof positive! The whole thing’s just a lot of moonshine! Nothing but an elaborate sell!” He sighed in relief. “Nobody likes to be sold as badly as that -- but for all that--” Arthur suddenly beamed. “Gilbert, have a drink.”

Gilbert moved immediately to pour one. “Great! I could do with one just now.”

“So could I,” Arthur agreed, laughing, and moved over to the sideboard with him.

“And I must say, Gilbert, you’ve argued this very cleverly. I’m almost grateful.”

“Well, you see--” He took a large swig of his drink. “While I was out of the house I had time to cool off and think things out a little.”

“Yes, he didn’t keep you on the run as he did the rest of us,” Arthur agreed, “I’ll admit now he gave me a bit of a scare at the time. But I’ve a special reason for not wanting a public scandal right about now.” Arthur raised his own glass. “Well, here’s to us! Come on, Madeline, don’t look like that now.”

Madeline stared at her father in disbelief. “The worse part is. But you’re forgetting one thing I still can’t forget. Everything we said had happened really had happened. If it didn’t end tragically, then that’s lucky for us. But it might have done.”

“But the whole thing’s different now!” Arthur told her, “Come com, you can see that, can’t you?” He suddenly paused, and grinned, putting on a crude accent of the Inspector, pointing a finger at his children. “You all helped to kill her! And I wish you could have seen your faces when he said that!”

Madeline shook her head, and moved towards the door.

“Going to bed, young woman?”

“I want to get out of this,” she muttered, through gritted teeth. “It frightens me the way you talk.”

“Nonsense!” Arthur laughed, heartily, “You’ll have a good old laugh over it yet. Look, you’d better ask Gilbert for that ring you gave back to him, hadn’t you? Then you’ll feel better.”

“You’re pretending everything’s just as it was before!” She yelled at him.

“I’m not,” Alfred put in.

“No, but the others are!”

“Well, isn’t it?” Arthur asked her, “We’ve been had, that’s all.”

“So nothing really happened,” she replied, scathingly, “So there’s nothing to be sorry for, nothing to learn. We can all go on behaving, just as we did.”

“Well, why shouldn’t we?” Her mother asked.

“I tell you -- whoever that Inspector was, it was anything but a joke,” she told them all, angrily, “You knew it then. You began to learn something. And now you’ve stopped. You’re all ready to go on in the same way.”

“And you’re not, eh?” Arthur asked her, amused.

“No, because I remember what he said, how he looked, and what he made me feel! Fire, blood and anguish! And it frightens me the way you talk, and I can’t listen to any more talk of it!”

“I agree with Maddie,” Alfred put in, “It frightens me too.”

“Well go to bed then, and don’t stand there being hysterical,” Arthur told them, giving them a stern look. 

“They’re over-tired,” Frances reasoned, with a slight smile, “In the morning, they’ll be just as amused as we are.”

“Everything’s all right now, Maddie!” Gilbert said, eagerly, then drew from his pocket the ring. “Here, what about this then, hmm?”

“No, not yet,” she replied, shortly. “It’s too soon. I must think.”

“Now look at the pair of them!” Arthur suddenly guffawed again, pointing a finger at his miserable children. “The famous younger generation who know it all! And they can’t even take a joke--”

He was cut off quite suddenly at the telephone beginning to ring. He grunted slightly at being interrupted, but then went to answer it. The room went quiet, Madeline pausing at the door. 

“Yes? Mr Kirkland speaking… What? Here--”

The other person rang off quite suddenly. Arthur stood, staring at his phone, a mixture of disbelief and panic on his face. Then he turned, and faced the others, who were looking at him curiously. 

“That -- that was the police,” he told them, in quiet voice. “A girl has just died -- on her way to the Infirmary -- after swallowing some disinfectant. And a police inspector is on his way... to ask... some questions…”

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to An Inspector Calls -- Hetalia edition! This fanfic is based off the theatre play An Inspector Calls, which I went to see recently, and wondered if I could turn it into a good fanfiction. So, here we are. The first chapter might have been a little boring, but I promise you it's all relevant, and the second chapter is in the works now.
> 
> I appreciate any comments or constructive criticism you give me. I don't have a set publishing schedule, so it's done when it's done I guess. Thanks for reading!


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